


Something Old Book II: Binding

by Ducks



Series: Something Old [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode Re-Write, Episode Related, F/M, Femslash, Het, Romance, Schmoop, mush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-23
Updated: 2009-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducks/pseuds/Ducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly reunited Buffy and Angel continue to explore the depths of their relationship, and help Willow and Oz come to terms with theirs. Of course, the Witch and the werewolf have secrets that make a reunion just a touch messy, forcing vampire and Slayer to face the darkest shadows of their past... and themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Left My Wolf in San Fransisco

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 1999-2000.

Buffy hummed "Under the Sea" from _The Little Mermaid_ to herself as she wandered through the crowded market square. She came shopping in the open-air mall all the time during the day, but on those rare nights when Angel joined her, there was a special magic about it, as if wonderful possibilities hung like promises in the air.

She wasn't sure where, exactly, or when she had lost him in the crowd, but she wasn't really concerned about it. They had a standing agreement to meet at the car in the Municipal Garage at midnight, if they were unable to find one another before then.

A tinkling ring sang from the pocket of her dress. Plus, there was always the cell phone he had given her. Buffy smiled broadly as she pulled it out and held it to her ear.

"Angel Investigations, may I help you?" she answered, although she already knew full well who the caller was.

"May I speak to Miss Buffy Summers, please?" Angel asked with teasing formality.

"I'm sorry, who?" Buffy responded, stifling a giggle.

"Ravishing blonde beauty... great with pointed sticks," he said. "Kicks impressive amounts of demon ass?"

"Oh, sure, you've got her, buddy," she chirped.

"I love you," he said. Buffy's heart fluttered in her chest.

"I love you, too," she replied, "Ooh!" She jogged to a nearby table that was covered with elegant handmade marionettes.

Angel knew that sound. "Don't buy anything big, Ionuin*," he warned, "There's no closet space left as it is, and you haven't even moved in yet."

"Yet?" Buffy mocked. They had been arguing for a while over whether she should live with him or in the dorms when she transferred to UCLA in the fall.

"Where are you?" he asked.

Buffy let his change of subject go. She couldn't possibly hear one more time how they should be together "properly" (i.e. married) before they shared a home full time. There was nothing worse, in her estimation, than an 18th century Irish Catholic vampire.

"Um..." she looked around her, "By the marionettes. Before the coffee cart. After the tie dyes."

Angel sighed. "What street, Buffy?"

"Mmm, I don't know. Wait, where are you? You're better at giving directions."

He chuckled. "I'm over by the smithy, near the pier."

"Smithy? Angel, what the hell is a 'smithy'?" she asked. Buffy knew which direction he meant, so she started to walk toward the bay.

"A blacksmith. You know, swords? Armor? Weapons?" he listed the items he examined as he moved back toward the main market.

"Office supplies. Got it," she said, "But don't buy anything big... closet space..." she mocked.

Angel grinned. "Are you hungry?" he asked, sniffing the many and varied aromas that rose into the air around him.

"Only if you're buying or cooking," she answered as she came around the corner of the last block that separated them.

"I can't imagine who else would," Angel teased.

"Hey! You said you liked my very special combination spicy fried eggs/French toast... OUCH!"

"Buffy? Are you okay?"

She shook her head and started to yell at the person who had just slammed right into her. The arm carrying the cell dropped to her side, and her mouth fell open right along with it.

"Buffy. Hey," Oz greeted her, as if they had met just yesterday. There was no mistaking him, despite his heavier build, longer hair, and the thick growth of shocking red beard on his chin. He looked like Grizzly Adams, but he was still fully Oz.

Buffy gaped at him in stunned silence.

"Buffy? Buffy! Are you okay? What's going on?!" Angel's voice called frantically from the phone that hung forgotten at her side.

Oz looked down at her limp hand.

"I think it's for you," he informed her.

********************************************************************************

Buffy was the only talker at the table, and she couldn't think of a single thing to say that didn't require a whole lot of cursing, and possibly an assortment of medieval torture devices. So she sat, showing keen interest in the menu, her latte, or almost anything else but Oz.

Oz watched Buffy and Angel with the same sort of neutral interest he showed to everything else around him, all the time.

Angel just sat. He really didn't know why Oz had left Sunnydale -- only that he and Willow had split up, causing the Witch to go completely out of her tree and bungle a simple spell so beautifully that she had almost single-handedly brought he and Buffy back together again.

So he was sort-of torn on his opinion of Oz &amp; Willow's break-up. Buffy, however, was nowhere near torn. She was obviously very angry. He decided, as the person least invested in the situation, to bail the others out.

"So, Oz. How've you been?" he asked.

"Good," Oz answered, nodding, "You?"

"Fine," Angel replied.

Maybe he wasn't the best candidate to stimulate conversation.

Buffy glared at the redhead. "I think better questions might be: Where have you been, what have you been doing, and why haven't you contacted Willow even once?" she snapped.

Angel looked at her. "But those aren't really your questions to ask, are they, Buffy?" he warned.

She turned her glare on him. Angel raised his hands to signal surrender and leaned back in his chair, leaving Buffy to return to her grilling of Oz once again.

"No, that's fair," the werewolf replied, still unruffled. After all, it wasn't the first time he had faced the wrath of Buffy the Best Friend Protector. "The Sierras, soul-searching, and because I couldn't," he answered succinctly.

Angel was impressed with the economy of his response. Buffy, clearly, was not.

"Oh, that's nice... that's great," she spat, signaling without any mistake that she didn't think the situation was anywhere close to great, "The mountains. That explains everything..."

"I'm not sure what you want me to tell you," Oz said with a shrug.

Buffy was so angry, so full of the desire for righteous vengeance in Willow's name, she positively shook. "I want you to explain yourself!!!" she hissed.

Oz held her angry gaze, still perfectly unruffled. "I won't do that," he told her, "Not to you."

She flinched, and Angel fought the urge to duck what was bound to be a fiery outburst. But Buffy seemed to relax a little instead, and her scowl of rage turned into something more akin to a semi-sympathetic frown.

Oz thought her change in expression was a definite step up, and indicated a significant improvement in his overall chances of survival.

"You've been living in the mountains," Angel recapped, hoping to rein the tension in a little.

Oz nodded and turned his attention back to the vampire. "There's a colony there."

"Really. Fascinating," Angel said. He remembered coming face-to-face with Oz's wolf once, in the back alley behind the Bronze. The enormous beast and Angel's alter ego had almost come to blows over Angelus' latest kill. But even arrogant as he was, the demon knew better than to take on a creature as wild as a werewolf.

Angel had a deep respect for Oz. He felt he understood him better than the rest of Buffy's group, including Willow. He knew what it felt like to be The Other -- to have a powerful creature living inside you, a monster fully out of your control. He understood the things that could drive a man to leave everything he loved behind. But most of all, Angel could relate to Oz's unshakable devotion to a single unique, precious woman.

"A colony. Of werewolves," Buffy repeated incredulously.

Oz nodded. "Actually, not just werewolves. All kinds of shapeshifters. It's kind of strange..."

"Do you have some kind of compound out there?" Angel asked, leaning forward, his interest piqued.

"Yes and no. There are about 50 of us -- everybody kind of has their own thing. It's pretty cool, actually. Some of the guys up there have been studying lycanthropy and other curses for close to thirty years. They've built a sort of small town..."

Buffy had a sudden visual of fifty bloodthirsty creatures locked up in a cement bunker the size of a school gymnasium for three nights of every month. The word "carnage" didn't begin to describe it.

"And what have they found? Anything interesting?" Angel tried not to think about the fact that Oz had mentioned "other curses" in his description of their work. His own curse, and why his soul still remained intact after so much happy intimacy with Buffy, remained at the forefront of his concern of late.

"Interestingly enough, yes," he told him, "I'm learning to control the change."

"Is that possible?" Angel asked, completely surprised at the notion.

"It is. Some of the people in the colony don't really need to be restrained or isolated anymore at all. They choose to stay on and help. But, it takes a long time to learn. Much like a twelve-string."

"What about a cure?" Angel added.

Oz shrugged. "That's the ultimate goal, but..." he turned and looked at Buffy once more, "How's Willow?" he asked suddenly, his tone not changing with the subject.

Buffy's head was spinning from the whole scene. But not far beneath her confusion, she still felt her anger over what Oz had done to her best friend, so she reached into that, using it to clear her head before she answered him.

"That's not for me to tell you," Buffy said, "Maybe you should ask her."

Something definitely flashed across Oz's face that time. Almost an actual expression.

//Good. I hope it hurts.//

In a moment, it was gone. "You're right. I should. And I will," he agreed evenly, "But not yet."

Buffy abruptly got up. "I have to go to the restroom," she snarled, and stomped away. Oz watched her go, then looked at Angel.

"So, you guys are..."

"Yeah," Angel replied.

"Good. Good for you," Oz told him sincerely.

The two men were quiet for a moment.

"I know you understand," Oz said.

Angel held his gaze, "I do," he replied, "Too well."

"How do you get beyond it? The doubt, the fear?" he asked. "How do you get past the things you did?"

Angel felt bad for Oz. The pain of that sort of confusion was hard for anyone to bear. "I didn't, for a long time," he replied, "But she's worth the effort. They both are."

Oz nodded. "They are."

********************************************************************************

The bed in their hotel room was easily large enough for five people, and Buffy used its gargantuan size to her full advantage. She scooted as far away from Angel's side of the bed as she could get, her back to where he would soon lay. She heard the shower stop, and the curtain slide open. Then, the sound of him brushing his teeth carefully -- such normal, everyday sounds. When Angel spit the toothpaste into the sink and started gargling, Buffy felt such a rush of joy and gratitude, she had to remind herself that she was still mad at him for letting Oz off so easily.

"Are you still not talking to me?" he asked when he was finished.

"No," Buffy said, not turning over.

"No you're not talking to me, or no you are talking to me?" he teased.

She rolled over and looked at him. He stood, naked and wet in the doorway, the bathroom light casting him in a broad silhouette. She gulped.

"No, I'm not talking to you," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, "In fact, you might as well just sleep in the tub."

Angel walked over to her side of the bed and gazed down at her. "Buffy, you need to ease up on Oz a little. He made a tough decision -- what he thought was best for everyone. Sometimes the hardest choice to make is the one you have to make. You should know that."

She hated it when he was right, and especially when he used her own experiences to prove her wrong.

"Your little speech would be a lot more convincing if your Johnson wasn't in my face," she said lightly, giving it a little push with her finger.

"If you do something like that again," he warned her, smiling, "I'm going to be forced to make you forget you're mad at me."

Without a word, Buffy reached out and grabbed him, stroking him gently until he was erect.

"You mean, something like that?" she purred.

He closed his eyes. "Exactly like that."

Buffy leaned forward and kissed the tip of his penis, then ran her tongue languidly over the ridge of his bulging head.

"How about that?" she asked.

"That's also effective," he groaned.

She sat up and smiled before sinking her mouth fully over him. Tracing her tongue along his silky underskin, she drew him out again, forcing a gasp of unneeded air from his chest, then sealed her lips tight and sucked him hard, pushing him deep into her throat. Angel groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair.

Buffy took to her task with the ferocity of a demon-hunt, stroking and licking him slowly, alternating hard sucking with flicks of her tongue, until his knees began to buckle.

"Jesus, Buffy..." he gasped, as she cupped one hand under his swollen sac. She stroked the sensitive skin beneath with feather-light fingertip brushes, using the muscles of her cheeks to encourage the blood that rushed through him to the head. She followed the hot wetness of her mouth with a strong, even stroke of her hand, sending involuntary shudders through the length of his body.

To Angel, this sensation was nothing less than amazing. Buffy knew each intimate inch of his body so well, it took no effort at all to control him. She knew exactly what it took to make him whimper, make him cry, and send him screaming to the edge of bliss, where reality was nothing but soothing, heart-wrenching pleasure. Pure sensation.

Like right now... she had her full lips wrapped tight around his head, and she sucked with fierce, calculated, hungry strokes, flicking her tongue over the top of him as she did. He grunted and pulled her closer.

Buffy could feel him beginning to twitch and pulse furiously in her mouth, and she took him to the hilt until he brushed against her tonsils.

"Uh... uhhnh..." he groaned as he felt her throat muscles tighten around him. Buffy increased the pace and the pressure, tasting his velvety coolness, and wondering for the hundredth time how something so cool and soft could be so painfully hard.

She drew him out of her mouth a final time, and Angel reached down to stop her, guiding her head away.

"Uhhh... Buffy, stop. I'm going to..."

She interrupted his objection by slamming him into the back of her throat. He hollered senselessly as she took him in, swallowing every drop of his seed as he came.

Angel looked down at her, fighting to catch his breath and not completely fall over. Buffy grinned innocently up at him, licking her lips. He laughed and collapsed beside her on the bed, laying flat on his back with his arms folded behind his head, his long legs draped over the edge.

Buffy climbed on top of him, straddling his aching lower body, and tickling his sensitive member with the silk of her underwear. Her grin turned to a good-natured leer.

"I thought you were mad at me?" he reminded her breathlessly.

"I am," she replied, sensuously undulating her hips.

"It shows," he moaned softly, "Maybe I should make you angry more often."

She shifted her hips in the opposite direction and said nothing.

"Give a guy a chance to recover, can't you?" he chuckled.

Buffy ran her hands over his bare chest, and tried her level best not to drool all over him. "You're a vampire. You can handle it," she purred, and leaned down to kiss him fiercely.

Feeling himself stir against her once again, Angel smiled and pulled away. "I suppose maybe I can," he said, and flipped her over.

********************************************************************************

The dorm was dark when Angel dropped Buffy off on Sunday night. They walked hand-in-hand, close together, her head resting against his arm as they made their way down the sidewalk to the front door.

The leaving was always the hardest part. Buffy could never help but feel that the moment she let go of Angel's hand, he would disappear and she would never see him again. Or she would forget, and it would be like none of this had ever happened... again.

Of course, the nice thing about that fear was that she knew it wasn't true. She would probably talk to him tomorrow, and every day, until they were reunited in a week or so.

They stopped at the door, and Buffy turned to look up at him. Angel smiled a little, also sad at yet another parting, but happy for the same reason as she -- the certain knowledge that this time wasn't forever. He gently caressed her soft cheek, and gazed down at her silently.

"Do you want to come up?" Buffy asked, stepping closer to him.

The shelter of his arms closed around her, and they sat on the nearby bench. He sighed. "I would love to. But I have to get back."

Buffy leaned over and slowly kissed him, taking her time to experience the cool thrill of his mouth on hers. After a breathless moment, she pulled away.

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

Angel shook his head, then kissed her again. The contact was longer, this time, and got hotter, making his body stir. After a few seconds, he met her eyes once more.

"I can't," he half-chuckled, half-moaned, and held her at arm's length, "And don't you have homework? I didn't see you crack a book all weekend."

Buffy pouted. He leaned down and kissed the proffered lower lip, then gave her a knowing look.

"Yes, I do," she admitted sadly, "But can't you come up for just a little bit?"

"You know as well as I do that there is no 'little bit'. I'll be stuck upstairs for days," he teased, "And besides, won't Willow be home?"

Willow. Buffy had forgotten all about Willow and Oz, stupefied as she was by Angel's kisses.

"Oh, god. What am I going to say to her?"

Angel became serious. "Do you think you should say anything?"

Buffy felt panic clutching at her chest -- Oz had made her swear she wouldn't tell Willow she'd seen him. But how could she lie to her best friend? It just wouldn't be right when Willow had done so much for her and Angel.

"I don't know... I mean... doesn't she have a right to know?" Buffy asked.

Angel practically turned to a puddle of mush at her sweet, pleading look. She wanted him to tell her what to do, to affirm that whatever she decided was the right thing. But he respected Buffy's search for self-reliance too much, and no matter how badly he wanted to do the simple thing -- lie to her and make the pain go away -- he couldn't do it.

"Doesn't Oz have a right to his feelings? His privacy?" he asked softly, "You did promise him."

Buffy sagged in the silk shirt she wore that she had filched out of Angel's laundry. Breathing in his cool scent from the luxurious material made her feel...

She leaned into the real thing, and sighed.

//Like this. Safe. Happy. Right.//

"I know... you're right. But... she's been so down since he left. Like she's only Half-Willow," Buffy said, snuggling up against his neck, "I would have given anything to know you were safe when I thought you were... gone."

Hell again. It seemed to Angel that that long-ago chapter of their lives occupied more of their time together now than it ever had. Since they had talked about it that stormy night at the mansion, it had stood like a barely acknowledged tension, right at the edge of their minds. It had even overshadowed The Day That Wasn't.

The first time they'd made love, the months Angelus had roamed free, and the nightmare's inevitable ending -- these were topics still unresolved for both of them.

The sheer luck that his curse had not once again been reversed when he and Buffy made love was something they didn't dare to tempt by questioning. They didn't wonder aloud why the curse had held -- why his soul remained intact, despite their intense and frequent intimacy. They only thanked the Powers that it did.

So here the topic was again.

"Would you, Buffy? Really? Think about that. Would you honestly have wanted to know what was happening to me in Hell?"

Buffy slowly looked up at his face, at the shadow of painful memory that hung over his eyes.

"No," she said softly, "No, I don't think I would have."

Angel dispelled the cloud over himself with a smile -- his Buffy smile -- and kissed her affectionately on the forehead.

"Oz and Willow are going through their own Hell. It will end in its right time," he reassured her.

Buffy nodded. "Maybe... I just... I hate to see Willow hurting this way. And... I owe her."

There was no mistaking her implication -- it was Willow's misery that had brought Buffy and Angel together again. But he owed the Witch twice over: once for Buffy, and once for his soul, without which, he couldn't love her. To force a confrontation on Oz and Willow before they were ready would do far more damage than they suffered apart.

"I think you should do what you feel is right," he said neutrally.

Buffy whacked him in the arm and got up. "You're no help at all," she complained.

Angel jumped up, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back to him, kissing her fiercely until her legs turned to jelly. Then he pulled back and looked at her intensely.

"Even when it hurts to be apart," he said, "Being together again more than makes up for it."

Buffy struggled to catch her breath. How incredibly much she wanted him! How much she had always wanted him...

"Are you talking about us or Willow and Oz?" she asked breathlessly.

Angel only smiled.

"It does," she agreed finally, returning his smile.

"Go to bed. I'll talk to you soon," he said.

Buffy hugged him.

"I love you," she told him, as she backed through the dormitory's front door.

"Goodnight, Ionuin... I love you, too."

"I'll be thinking about you," she said, and disappeared into the elevator.

"I always think of you," he murmured to the night.

*Ionuin is the Gaelic word for "Beloved"


	2. Spill It

Doyle wasn't quite sure if the pounding was coming from inside his head or out, but either way, the skull-shattering noise woke him from a deep sleep. He stumbled out of bed to the door, barely remembering to look through the peephole to check for deadly assassins, collection thugs, or demons, before he threw it open to kill whoever was on the other side.

His ire immediately faded when he saw Cordelia warped into a bubble shape by the glass. He put down the baseball bat... then picked it back up again -- just in case -- and opened the door.

" 'Delia... it's..." he looked at the clock behind him, "It's four in the morning. What's wrong?"

She stood in her pajamas, covered by a raincoat, her hair stuffed in a hasty bun. She smiled, feeling herself go all mushy and soft at his sweet, groggy, slightly irritated, but trying not to be, state.

"I missed you," she said simply.

Doyle gaped at her, dumbfounded.

Cordelia found his speechlessness cute, for a minute... even two... but by the third, she was ready to turn around and leave again.

"Um, hello?" she said, waving her hand in front of his face, "Did you pass out?"

Doyle focused on her at last. "Did you just... I mean, did you say..."

Cordy gently pushed him back into the apartment and followed. She took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly, just as she remembered him doing in her dream. When Doyle pulled away again, his mouth hung slack.

"You heard me," Cordelia said, and kicked the door shut behind them.

~~~

Buffy lucked out. Willow wasn't in the room when she returned, and she was able to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep without having to lie to her best friend.

In fact, she didn't see her favorite Witch at all until lunchtime the next day, when the redhead appeared at the snack bar for their regular meeting. Willow looked rested and cheerful, and Buffy noticed that her tray was loaded with Happy Food: fresh fruit, toasted wheat bread piled with mounds of whipped butter, and a glass of lowfat chocolate milk to top it off.

"Okay, give," Buffy demanded when Willow sat down.

Willow smiled. "Hi to you, too. How was San Francisco?" she chirped.

"Don't answer a question with a question... or... a demand with a question," Buffy scolded her, "Answer it with an answer. Preferably, a detailed one that requires whispering and possibly feminine giggles."

Willow's smile didn't fade. "I don't know what you mean."

Buffy leaned over the table so that she was practically on top of it and in Willow's face.

"You're eating a balanced meal," she accused, pointing at the redhead's plate. "This leads me to believe I should ask: Where were you last night?"

Willow's grin widened. "Out," she replied vaguely.

Buffy's eyes went wide. "Out where? And with who? You'd better start spilling, girlfriend, or I'll have to put some Slayer moves on you."

"I met someone... interesting," she said, "In Wicca group."

"One of those moon-blood heads or whatever?" Buffy said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"No, no... different. A real Witch." Willow answered, still vaguely, but with an unmistakable hint of gushing.

"Oh, Willow, that is so..." Before she could even finish her sentence, Buffy's excitement popped like a water balloon. What about Oz? He clearly meant to come back someday. Buffy's discomfort at having seen him and not being able to tell Willow tripled -- no, quadrupled. She wanted more than anything for Willow to be happy again -- with or without her werewolf. But could she let her best friend careen into Reboundland still thinking that Oz was lost and gone forever?

Willow didn't notice the abrupt end to Buffy's congratulations.

"Yeah, it really is," she sighed.

Suddenly, Willow's own enthusiasm faded. She wanted to tell Buffy everything about the amazing time she and Tara had last night. But she was more than a little nervous about what her best friend's response might be when she found out the new source of Willow's happiness was not a "he".

Buffy recovered her composure, plastering on her best cheerleader smile for Willow's benefit.

"What's he like?" she asked with forced cheerfulness.

Willow's posture went rigid. "Uh..."

"Come on," Buffy encouraged her, remembering her promise to Oz and Angel's wise words about things happening in their own good time, "I'm dying, here!"

Willow bit her lip. There was no lying to Buffy.

"He's, uh... he's not... exactly... a... a he," she stuttered.

Buffy started visibly. She blinked a couple of times before her Politically Correct Programming kicked in and pushed her shock away.

"Oh. Uh... well. What's... she like, then?" she asked.

Willow cringed a little at Buffy's obvious discomfort.

((What did you expect? You didn't even know!))

"She's... um... her... her name is Tara, and she's a pretty powerful natural Witch. She's from New Hampshire, originally..."

Buffy kept her mouth clamped shut and her "Dish" face on, nodding and ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the appropriate intervals. But her brain was quaking with the increasing certainty that something really horrible was going to come from this love triangle. Something that would not fail to touch every single one of them.

~~~

"Mo Croi:

I got your letter this morning. That is some news! I hope that helps ease your concern for Willow, and your dilemma over telling her about Oz.

I realize you're shocked at her confession of "side-switching", as you called it. But I can honestly say that I'm not. Something I don't think you realize about vampires is very true -- something I saw clearly for the first time when Willow's doppelganger came to Sunnydale last year. Something I've known intellectually for a long time, but refused to believe until I saw that undeniable proof: the fundamental personality of a vampire barely deviates from that of the person whose body it has stolen. That is, the only thing the Vampire demon really does to its victim is wipe it clean of true good before it possesses the mind and body. The human shell is still the same, but the bestial core and evil of the demon subsumes the person's light side by destroying its power source, the soul. Darla once told me, a very long time ago, "What we once were informs all that we have become. The same love will infect our hearts - even if they no longer beat. Simple death won't change that." I can remember that lecture as if it were yesterday.

Put simply, I already had an idea that Willow was bisexual, because her evil twin was.

Which got me to thinking about the boy I was before I was turned -- would he have loved you as much and as deeply as I do? Is my demon's twisted obsession with you somehow the ultimate catalyst for the love I bear?

The answer to both questions, I believe, is "Yes and no". Liam certainly would have wanted you -- coveted you like a rare and beautiful prize, as he did many others of extraordinary beauty and charm. He might even have adored you above all the rest. Every boy becomes a man the first time he falls in love - something my human incarnation never experienced. So I think the first time he made love to you, it would have changed everything -- even that thoughtless, simple child would have understood that you were unique among women -- a diamond in a field of sapphires. But would he consciously realize it? Would he understand what it meant to be with you? Would he heed the knowledge he felt in his bones? Sadly, I think the answer there would be 'no'. If there was one thing he always failed in, it was understanding his own emotions. He would have frightened himself into running for his life from the intensity of it -- the perceived loss of his freedom. What Liam liked was excitement -- without the responsibility or fetters like commitment and understanding.

As for Angelus... Again, I don't think he is so different from me -- or, rather, from my long-deceased humanity. Insane, yes. Cruel, certainly. A monster, without a doubt. But the demon and I became very intimate during our incarceration in Hell. I learned a great deal about his separate personality that often surprised me. His responses to our treatment were mixed, when you were the instrument. He absolutely raged when you were threatened, which challenged my long-held belief that the demon cared for nothing but pain and death.

As time passed, and any clarity of mind I possessed was stolen from me, only two things remained: that rage, and the undeniable need to get back to you. Even when I didn't have any concept of self, let alone self-in-relation, my survival instinct was shored by that barely understood necessity. Like a mindless creature driven to mate, I constantly reached out to sense you. To find you, and thus the means of my escape. Though I had no true memory of you or what we shared, my love for you, and the demon's possessive fury were like a lifeline to the world I'd left behind. In fact, I would venture to guess that it was that tie which brought me back.

I think the power of that instinct is due, in part, to Angelus' firm belief that you belong to him and him alone. He resents my soul's existence because of its tie to yours. He struggles to survive because he feels that someday, you will belong to him.

That will never happen, of course...

The need for connection extends far beyond such mundane, earthly details as gender, race, or even species, Buffy. The ground of being is all of those things, and none of them. Love is born from the that ethereal essence, and only delivered through the physical heart -- so love is love, no matter what its manifest details. The fact that Willow is falling in love with a woman... the fact that the heartless demon inside me is ultimately unable to destroy you, its archenemy... both of these things prove to me that the labels humans choose to place on experiences have no effect on the experiences themselves.

I've also given a great deal of thought to the many layers of sexual expression. How are sex and love related, if they necessarily are? How does the bliss of physical union involve the ethereal depths of the soul, if it does? Why hasn't my curse been lifted since you and I have been together again?

I don't have any answers for those questions. And, for the most part, I don't care, so long as you are safe.

When I'm with you, Buffy, there are no questions. There are no cares, no sacred duties, no fears, no differences... there are only the sounds we make and the electric feeling of our bodies blending.

I make love to you in my head all of the time. I could be sitting in a meeting with some client, listening to their tale of pain and woe, or fighting one of Hell's creatures to the death, and my mind will simply slip away...

More often than not, I see you standing before me, clothed in some bare slip of a dress. Sometimes flowing satin, sometimes a sheer chenille... Sometimes red, sometimes black, sometimes pure white, but always in the colors of the Goddess. You smile softly at me, with that gentle turn of your lips that belongs completely to me, that warm ripple that passes softly across your perfect features until it sets your eyes alight.

Your eyes... I can see them in perfect detail... Where they are green flecked with russet... where they are barely blue... and I see myself reflected in them -- the picture of how you see me, and all of the things you've ever felt for me: desire, burning; love, flowing; even the old, faded edges of the pain I have caused you. Your eyes do something to me... something deep and sacred, like when you set them on me, you are firing my dead body back to precious life.

You always approach me slowly, a flowing, sensuous march over the long and heavy space between us. You look up at me, and I am immediately lost in the glow of warmth that surrounds you, every moment. Your energy... your life's essence... is overwhelming to me. You reach out with your hands and touch me -- sometimes my face, sometimes that vacant spot where my heart once beat, and sometimes, you simply take my hand.

That first touch is like a shock, every time, and my entire being is immediately starving for you. Your hands are amazing -- so small and fine, their delicacy belying their strength. Some part of me knows that their soft steel is deadly -- that you could just as easily turn me tto a pile of ash as make my nerves sing your praises. That fear is an extra thrill. After all this time, the instinctually forbidden taste of loving one that is supposed to be my deadliest rival is the most erotic feeling I can imagine.

Sometimes I pull you gently to me, letting your life's essence slowly flow over me like a thick syrup, plunging me deep into indescribable ecstasy. Others, you grab me and pull me close with a sweet violence. You devour me with your strength, and the slow burn becomes an inferno of passion that consumes me utterly.

Whether gentle or rough, the vision always has the same core nature: sweet, like expensive chocolate; soft, like fine velvet; and always, always searing hot.

In my favorite daydream, it is daylight, like the afternoon I found you on the pier... the sky is a perfect, crystal blue, the sun warm on our skin. I lay you down in a sea of wildflowers, and the bees hum to us as I kiss you in the tickling grass.

I love to kiss you. Not just your tender, perfect lips, but every soft inch of you. I remember every detail of your body so well because my mouth, my fingertips, my hands, my body have memorized you, like the familiar layout of my own home. I can find any spot on you instantly, any time, without even looking.

I kiss your eyelids, remembering the tears that have flowed from them in my name... your cheeks, which flush red with desire... your ears, so delicate, like rose petals... your neck, strong and fine, marked only by a single scar.

All of it is mine.

I kiss your shoulders, which bear so many heavy burdens... your chest, where I can feel your hero's heart pounding, and I know that that too is only for me. I remember what it felt like when my hearts' rhythm matched your own when we lay skin to skin. In my fantasy, I hear two heartbeats...

I remove your dress slowly, carefully unwrapping the gift that awaits me beneath...

Your breasts... all the clichés about breasts are so true, and yet, no words can properly express the experience of their miraculous softness, tipped with a diamond hard signal of your desire for me. The sensation that the nipples produce when I close my lips over them is bizarre -- the way they pucker and rise against my tongue, and cause the rest of your body to tangibly throb when I suck them... the way you shiver and moan when I nibble them with my teeth.

I could easily spend eternity at your breasts, but there is so much more of you to explore -- so many fair inches of smooth, living flesh... hot, wet skin -- every part arching into me, begging for my attention.

And I can never resist -- not any of it. Not the feminine dip of your belly, the perfect curve of your hips... and most of all, the hot, fertile cleft where your strong legs meet. It's there, where the humidity is close to jungle-like in its thickness, that you are most exclusively, uniquely you. Besides the blood, a woman's intimate scent is the most definitive sensory thing about her. The intricate, sensitive folds of flesh ooze your deepest secrets, and you flow into my mouth like a symphony: bitter and sweet, hot and smooth... I can tell where your body is in the cycle of both fertility and pleasure from the taste of you, by your texture. I use my fingers and my tongue to change you, and marvel at the way your every delicious cell responds to my attentions.

Whether you whisper or shout my name doesn't matter much... every sound of your pleasure as I devour you is like echoes of indication telling me how and where to go next... harder, or softer; whether you want me to continue pleasuring you or whether you want me inside you.

It's all overwhelming. I am completely senseless with you all around me, on me, in me, and I in you...

I can feel you now. The thrill in my blood from our bodies joining... the joy of looking into your eyes and seeing the unbridled desire there. I can move this way, and watch you shiver... I can quicken or slow my pace and hear you moan. I can feel your body wrapped around me, possessing me, like a blanket of fire, bathing me in its vitality.

When you reach your peak and your blood sings, it touches me on every possible level: the man who comes with you, the demon that starves to ingest you, and the soul that loves you more than anything else in all of the dimensions.

Making love with you, Buffy, is the closest thing to utter Truth I have ever experienced. Loving you is what makes my existence worthwhile. Whatever our differences, whatever things we might have thought were obstacles in the past -- they lose any meaning in the face of this blazing knowledge, this undeniable certainty -- that we are, ultimately, One.

I've wandered somewhat off my point, I think. Sorry, but... my mind will wander when it comes to you. What I mean to say is be gentle with Willow, and with Oz. If their connection is real, if they are meant to be together, then no one, and nothing will come between them in the end. The labels of human sexuality are just that -- labels. If Willow's heart comes to belong to someone else, then all of the details will unravel themselves, and the answers will become clear, in time. You need to let her find these things for herself, just as you did.

I don't know if any of this helps at all, but it's my opinion, nonetheless. I trust your judgment, and I will support you in whatever you choose to do. Just be certain, whatever you decide. And think carefully how your words and actions might effect everyone involved.

There is a saying that, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Perhaps this Tara is exactly what Willow needs right now, at this particular point in her life, just as the were-people are for Oz.

I'd better close, now. I can hear Cordelia shouting, and I need to get upstairs before she tries to gut Doyle again.

Ionuin... my dearest heart... never forget that I love you more than life itself. I'll see you soon.

Always...

A."

*****************************************************************

Oz never felt more at home than he did when he was in the warm circle created by Old Emma's hearth fire. Although being summoned to her magickal home was a sure sign of something momentous about to happen, he wasn't nervous at all. He already knew what was coming. Buffy's appearance -- and with Angel, no less -- had only been the first among many signs that signaled that great change was upon him -- upon them all.

One of the others was that his amateur rituals had produced a new result: he hadn't changed this month until the second night of the full moon. Although the first night was fraught with an exhausting and painful struggle, he had been victorious, however slightly, over his disease and his curse for the first time. It was the ultimate reason he had sought out the community to begin with. His ultimate goal was finally within reach - how could the world ever be the same after that?

Old Emma sat cross-legged across from him, her tarot cards spread out on the coffee table before her. It was an ancient deck of gypsy cards -- Oz couldn't read the Old Romani markings, but he recognized the pictures from many hours watching Willow read: Death, meaning change; Star, meaning ultimate happiness; and the Tower, signifying pain and disaster.

((Weird reading...))

"Ah, Daniel," she said as he sat, "I am glad you came."

He nodded.

The old woman looked down at the cards with eyes so black, they seemed nothing less than a bottomless well of wisdom.

"It is almost time for you to leave us," she observed, "The signs indicate a great change is coming. Another month, perhaps two, and you will be ready. You are needed elsewhere," she searched his face carefully for a moment before she went on, "You know that you face great pain when you return to the world. Many things have changed outside since you came here. The people and the places you remember are no longer the same..."

"I know," Oz told her, holding her gaze.

She nodded sagely. "You are a smart man. An intuitive man. You feel the fabric of reality shifting," she pulled another card from the deck and placed it face up on top of the others, "A great warrior has brought you a message," she observed.

"Two, actually," Oz corrected her respectfully.

The old Kalderash crone smiled, "I will miss you when you are gone from here, young Daniel. But... the others will look after you, even if you are far away. And your family... your heart's family... still cares for you, as well. Their anger will pass, and your worth to them will never be in question. You have an incredible gift to give, and in time, they will understand its significance, and forgive you." She eased her old bones from the couch and shuffled toward him, then leaned over and kissed him warmly on the forehead like a beloved grandchild. Oz felt the blessing flow through him from the spot where her lips touched his tired skin.

She stood to look down at him once again, "Be awake, young one. Be aware. Something is coming, and you must be ready."

Oz blinked at her.

"The Sorcerers among your number will know what to do. It will be an unexpected return... a disturbance in all of your lives that will conjure many memories of injuries past. But do not let your present stand in the way of confronting that past -- face it. There is a strength of love tying all of you together that cannot be broken by any evil." She looked at him for another long moment, then turned away.

"Thank you, Grandmother," Oz said, and watched her leave the room, signaling the end of his audience.

*****************************************************************

Tara let the candle levitate slowly to the floor, then extinguish itself.

Willow clapped.

"That was great!" she exclaimed happily.

Tara smiled. Working magick with Willow was the most satisfying experience of her life. But still, she wondered...

"Where did you tell Buffy you were last night?" she asked shyly.

Willow sighed, "I told her the truth, of course."

Tara gave her a skeptical look.

"Okay, maybe not the whole truth," Willow admitted, "There are some things you don't even tell your best friend. But I did tell her about you..."

"What did she say?" Tara asked. She had no one she had to explain Willow to. Sometimes, she wished she did. But others, she was just as glad that she didn't. Like now, seeing Willow go through all this pain with her friends...

Willow shrugged and plopped down on the floor across the circle from Tara. She looked deeply into her new lover's deep blue eyes, and made a weak attempt to smile.

"She asked about you... and... I think she was happy for me." The redhead told her.

"But..." Tara said.

"But, what?"

"There's something you're not saying, Willow, I can tell."

Willow fiddled with the pile of polished crystals inside the circle. "I don't Know. I mean, I know this whole thing is uncomfortable for Buffy, on a lot of levels -- not just the fact that you're female, although that's definitely part of it. She went through a lot with Oz and me... we were a unit for a long time. I think she'd be weird about me seeing anybody new. I just wish..." she sighed, "I wish that she would just be okay with this... with us..."

Tara slid around the circle so she was right next to Willow. She'd never met anyone with the sort of glow that the redhead possessed -- the proud certainty that came from many years of victory against evil. Tara was unavoidably drawn to her, and with the added beauty of Willow's unassuming honesty and simplicity, she found herself feeling things she'd never felt for another human being. She put her arm around her friend's thin shoulders, and gave her a squeeze.

"Don't worry, Willow. Buffy loves you -- they all do. They'll accept you no matter who you choose to care about," she promised her.

Willow looked up again, and finally, genuinely, smiled. "I hope you're right," she said.

"I know I am," Tara replied, and kissed her softly.


	3. Every Which Way

Okay, so maybe there was something to be said for the fixer-uppers. For the second time in as many years, Cordelia Chase, former Queen of Sunnydale High, had discovered that the last guy she wanted to go out with was absolutely the perfect guy for her to go out with.

Or at least in this case, jump thoroughly. They hadn't done a whole lot of "going out." She sighed and rolled over, listening to Doyle's deep breathing beside her. She'd almost had a heart attack when he fell asleep and didn't snore. Okay, Brachen Demon (half), previously married, drunken, lazy, gambling... sweetheart of a man that once taught third-graders and opened the door for another reason, sometimes, than simply to cop a cheap feel.

She couldn't believe she was falling in love with another sloppy loser who dressed like he shopped in a dump.

Who was also a hero, and one of her very favorite people in the world -- a small company, which contained only two others: a vampire with a soul and another loudmouthed dork. Cordelia knew she must definitely have some issues that required decades of therapy, but she smiled anyway, and reached out to brush the back of Doyle's jet black hair.

Absolutely nauseating. Angel would so laugh at her if he could see her lying here, simping. Not in a mocking way, but in a smug, 'I told you so' way. It had been him who suggested there was more to Doyle than met the eye in the first place.

Cordelia closed her eyes, finally ready to let sleep take her. 36 hours in bed tended to make a girl tired. Especially with an energetic... lover like Doyle. Attentive, careful, thorough... even through the haze of sleep, she could feel her desire still burning, only dampened by her impending loss of consciousness.

The other night, she had wakened from an awful nightmare, terrified and sweating. Something had happened to him -- something really gross and horrible and heroic that she couldn't quite remember. All she knew was that he had kissed her a single time, and then died.

It was so vivid, and left her so shaken, she had no choice in what to do.

Cordelia had never left her house in her pajamas and without make-up before. She didn't even answer the phone like that. But her desperate, lingering fear from the nightmare and the fact that Doyle didn't answer his own phone when she called, drove her to summon a cab in the middle of the night, cramming her nasty bed-head up in a scrunchie and eating toothpaste as she gave the cabby directions to the seedier side of downtown LA.

She had to see him. She had to tell him how she felt, before it was too late.

Now, lying in his bed almost two days later, she slipped into the sweet sleep of the exhausted lover. Cordelia felt Doyle's arms come around her, his soft breath puffing against her cheek, and she had only a single thought:

((So what if he's dumpster bait? He's MY dumpster bait.))

****************************************************

"You're kidding," Buffy whispered, even though she was alone in her room.

"It's adorable. And nauseating... They're bickering like children one moment, and the next, they're making cow eyes at each other," Angel laughed.

"I take it this is a good thing, then. I mean... office romances..." Buffy said, remembering their own difficulties working together.

"Of course it is," he said softly, leaning back in his chair, "I want everybody to feel the way I do. There's nothing better for productivity than love."

Buffy sighed wistfully, "Yeah..."

"What are you wearing?" Angel asked with a grin.

Before Buffy had a chance to tell him, Cordelia opened the door and snuck inside. She smiled sheepishly at him -- a sure sign that she was bearing news that he wouldn't be thrilled about.

"Oz is here," she announced, and waited.

Angel blinked. "Oz is here," he repeated to Buffy.

"Oh," she replied, her nervousness returning, "Don't tell him what I told you, okay?"

"I'm not Cordelia, Buffy."

"Hey!" Cordy objected, "I don't know what you said, but I'm sure it wasn't true!"

"I have to go," Angel told Buffy, "And don't worry, okay? Everything will be fine."

"You're coming Thursday, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. I love you," she told him, "Why don't you call me later and find out what I'm wearing then?"

Angel grinned, and Cordelia made a face as she left his office. "You've got a date," he said, "I love you."

They hung up, and Cordelia returned with Oz in tow.

"Oz. Good to see you," Angel said, rising and shaking the younger man's hand, "Have a seat."

Oz sat and looked up at Cordelia, who still stood in the doorway. Angel stared at her as well.

"What?" she asked.

"Princess, I think they want you to leave!" Doyle called from the front office.

She looked at her two friends. "No they..."

Angel smiled tightly and nodded.

"Oh, fine," she huffed, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

"Working with Cordelia, huh? That must be a unique experience," Oz remarked.

Angel remembered when Willow had said almost the exact same thing. Funny how alike the two of them were...

"She's changed," Angel told him, "You'd be surprised."

"You're right," Oz quipped, "I would."

Angel smiled. "So, what can I do for you?"

Oz's cool exterior seemed to melt, and for the first time, Angel saw misery written clearly on the werewolf's usually impassive features.

"I've been thinking," he said, "About going back."

Angel nodded. He had expected as much.

"But there are some things you should know. I think you're the only one who can understand," the werewolf went on.

"Okay," Angel replied, "I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

"I told you about the commune where I've been living. And what I'm learning to do..."

"Yeah."

"Well, I've almost got it down. A couple of more months, and I'll have my magick at full strength - I should be able to completely control the change."

"And..." Angel said, leaning toward him, "I'm not sure I see where you need my help."

"Old Emma... and the elders... they gave me a prophecy. It's a kind of going away present," Oz told him, "A gypsy prophecy."

Angel flinched involuntarily, "Go on..."

"Something's coming. And only we can stop it."

"We who?" Angel probed. In his estimation, anything that came out of the mouth of a gypsy had to be suspect.

"I don't know, exactly. Me, you, Buffy, I guess... and magick users. Multiple. Besides Will and Giles, I don't know who else that could mean..."

Angel wondered for a split second if he should mention Willow's new friend. He decided on something a little more neutral, instead, "Maybe there are others. At the university."

Oz nodded, "Good call. Nothing like a college on the Hellmouth for attracting up and coming young occultists."

Angel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The longer he sat, looking at Oz, the more uncomfortable he became. He started feeling irritable and itchy.

"What is supposedly coming?" he asked him, scratching absently at his arm.

The werewolf shook his head, "An unexpected return, that's all she could tell me."

"The Gypsy woman?"

He nodded.

Angel frowned, "Could the unexpected return be yours?"

"No. The return comes after I come home," he said, and shrugged, showing that he was no clearer on this than Angel. "I guess I'm supposed to help."

"So you're the catalyst. Your return sparks someone else's. Who could it be? Faith? Drusilla?"

"I don't know, man. All I know is that we need to be ready," Oz concluded, "For anything."

Angel just looked at him, and said nothing.

****************************************************

Buffy was pissed when she went on patrol Thursday night. Angel had sworn he would meet her before she went out, but he hadn't yet appeared. She called his office, and no one answered. Where the Hell was he?

She dusted a couple of younger vamps out on the street, and then took to patrolling Sunny Rest. She knew she was bound to find some action there. It was practically the mall of the blood-sucking set.

Barely five yards beyond the front gate, Buffy felt the twitching, and then the familiar humming, in her gut. All of her senses roared to life, and reached out to locate the newcomer's proximity. Behind her, to the right -- she could feel the air edged with cold there from its presence. Better to take on a strong, experienced fighter like she sensed this one to be toward the enclosing wall of the cemetery. She could use it to protect her back, and provide herself a means of escape, if necessary. Ducking low, she sprinted out from behind the nearest mausoleum and charged toward the wall on the far side of the graveyard.

But the vampire was quicker, and it had her in its grasp before she vaulted the second headstone in her path.

Buffy held her scream, and felt the sudden rush of adrenaline jolt through her. She twisted her body first toward the left, and then tried to use her legs to kick her opponent away and break its grip on her upper body. The vampire was as strong as it was fast, and it trapped her arms around her, yanking her back against its broad chest. She could feel its cool breath tickling her neck, and her cool composure crumbled, turning quickly into a strange mix of panic and rage.

She struggled harder. She knew this game, and she had no intention of losing.

But all of her efforts were in vain, as her struggles only entangled her further in the vampire's embrace. Giving in, she relaxed against it.

Her opponent pushed her forward, bending her over a wide stone, and pressed its strong body against her. She shuddered as she felt its cold hands push her skirt up to her waist, and then slide its fingers down to dip inside her underwear. His stroke was strong, even and perfect as he caressed her, quickly tempering and replacing her fading fear with the wet heat of want.

The vampire undid his slacks, and let them fall to the earth as he continued to touch the Slayer with his other hand. She shuddered noiselessly as she rapidly came, clutching the unyielding stone beneath her as she struggled not to cry out. Before she relaxed again, the vampire ripped away her panties, and pushed himself deep inside of her, slamming her hips roughly against the gravestone with the force of his entry. A loud grunt escaped her throat as he took her -- the ultimate act of irony for one of his kind -- sharing flesh with the Slayer, the killer of vampires.

He'd been imagining this moment for days... dreaming about her hard, creamy body, and had barely been able to wait for her patrol tonight before he came to her. Now he found himself where he'd so badly wanted to be, deep inside her hot, living center, and as he emptied and filled her, over and again, he wondered how such a sin could feel like such a pure, untainted deed -- a tribute to the walking dichotomy that he himself was.

He growled deep in his chest as he continued to ram Buffy into the stone. All of the magicks in the air -- the sweet smell of sex mixed with that of decay, the energy of life and the entropy of death -- hummed all around them, stifling their voices, but not dampening their passion.

He draped his body over hers so that they both blanketed the cold stone, and gripped her desperately as he finally lost control. His eyes turned feral gold, his fangs burst forth, and he let out a bone-chilling howl as he came inside of her.

A few numb moments later, the vampire regained his senses enough to feel the Slayer renew her struggles beneath him.

"Not that this isn't fun," Buffy said lightly, "But I think you crushed all my ribs. And there may be some internal bleeding..."

Angel immediately let her up, and pulled his pants on as she eased down from the stone, stiffly yanking her skirt down and smiling up at him.

"Hi, honey," she said, "Nice attack scenario. Although, if you skip the sex, you're more likely to make the kill."

He grinned. "I always wanted to do that."

Buffy laughed and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"You're a bad, bad man..." she teased, "So, what do you think? Do I rate dinner out of this deal?"

"Well, since you did put out..." He ducked her half-hearted left hook and laughed as they headed for the exit.

****************************************************

Willow's head shot up at the sound of bright, happy voices coming from right outside the door. It swung open and admitted Buffy, with Angel appearing barely six inches behind her.

"Oh, stop it!" she teased, "She was not a vampire! She was hitting on you!"

Angel was about to argue, when the light snapped on, and he got a look at the bed directly in front of them. Willow clutched her blanket up over her obvious nakedness as its other occupant wriggled to the surface. Buffy stared.

((Guess Oz couldn't wait, after all...)) Angel thought.

A head that was decidedly not Oz, seeing as that it was blonde -- and female -- poked out from under the covers wearing a shy, embarrassed smile.

Angel's eyebrows shot up in wry amusement. It wasn't a sight he hadn't seen before, but it wasn't one he'd ever expected to see little Willow in.

Buffy gaped obviously at the pair -- it *was* a sight she'd never seen before.

"Uh... hi... guys..." Willow ventured.

Buffy snapped back to something more closely resembling sanity, and nervously began gathering clothes from her closet and bureau, stuffing them into her bag.

"Hi... Will...um..." she replied, not looking at them, "Sorry..."

Angel tried not to laugh and turned to take very pointed interest in the Dingoes Ate My Baby poster on the far wall as Willow and her friend got dressed.

"This is Tara," Willow said, "Um... Tara... this is Buffy," Buffy turned and waved tersely before returning to her task, "And that's Angel."

"Nice to meet you," he said, turning back to face them. He noticed that Tara was a soft, curvy woman with large, kind eyes and a calming energy humming all around her. A healer, maybe? Angel liked her immediately.

"Hi," she said shyly.

Buffy finished cramming things into her bag, completely unsure if she had really packed anything she actually needed, and forced herself to go back to stand beside Angel.

"It's nice to meet you Tara," she said, "I hate to interrupt and run, but... you know... weekend... boyfriend... Oh! I mean..."

Angel put his arm around her and began to guide her to the door, hoping to end this increasingly awkward scene before it got any uglier. He smiled back over his shoulder at Willow and Tara as they left.

"Sorry to bother you," he said, "You know... you guys might want to think of a signal system... like a red tie on the door, or something."

Buffy yanked him out into the hall. "Bye! See you Sunday!" she called, and shut it behind them.

Tara sighed. "Well, that was completely awkward..."

Willow nodded sadly. "Not exactly the way I wanted you guys to meet."

Tara shrugged. "I know... But... why not just get it over with? And Angel seemed to be pretty cool with it..."

"Yeah, well, he should be. I doubt it's the first time he's seen two women together..." Willow said.

"If he's 250 years old and a vampire? I doubt it."

The two women looked at each other and laughed.

****************************************************

Buffy threw her bag practically across the living room of the mansion -- a considerable distance.

"Can I be any more of a goon? Why didn't I just start taking pictures?" she lamented, heading straight for the fridge. What she needed was a good, strong shot of orange juice to wash the taste of slack-jawed idiot out of her mouth.

"It wasn't that bad, Buffy," Angel assured her, hanging up both their coats and picking her bag up off the floor, "You would have been surprised to find anyone there. Frankly, I was expecting Oz, myself." He sparked the kindling in the hearth, and the fire roared to life, warming him immediately. One of his favorite human trappings was the comforting heat of a fireplace. Even though it never truly reached his bones, just knowing it was warm made him feel more relaxed.

"I made you some tea," Buffy said when she returned a few minutes later. She set the tray down on the coffee table and sat on the couch. Angel walked over to join her, and sat.

"Thanks. Aren't you having any?" he asked as he dropped three lumps of sugar into the single steaming cup.

"No. Jibbering dorks get juice," she said, and sipped at hers.

Angel looked at Buffy sympathetically. "You're being a little hard on yourself, don't you think?"

She collapsed back against the cushions, "I acted like I found her in bed with a demon or something. No offense," she said.

"None taken," Angel replied, and leaned back beside her.

"It's just so weird... And I don't mean the lesbian thing..." Buffy went on.

"Bisexual, I think," he corrected her.

"Whatever. I don't mean that. I mean, knowing Oz is coming back, and knowing how Will feels about him, and then there's this whole new person involved, and this fiasco is turning into Days of Our Lives faster than I can take it all in. I'm surprised Spike's not here laughing at me."

"Don't say that," Angel warned, "You'll jinx the peace."

Buffy turned and faced him, tucking her legs up beneath her. "What are we going to do? We can't just let all these people get hurt."

Angel sipped his tea. "I'm not sure there's anything we can do. Even if we tell them about each other, it will still be painful."

She pouted a little. "But at least it won't feel like an ambush. And I won't feel like such a loser."

Angel set his cup down on the tray and took both of Buffy's small hands in his.

"Listen. If you think it will really be in everyone's best interest to warn them, then we can," he promised, "We're all going to have to work together again soon, and we need to do whatever it takes so we can stay focused and unified."

"Because of this prophecy thing," she said.

Angel nodded. "An unexpected return. That means something we've probably faced before. So, as long as we stick together, I'm sure we can handle it."

"Yeah," Buffy snorted, "Because we're all such professionals. Why can't anything ever be simple?" She leaned her head forlornly on his shoulder.

Angel kissed the top of her head. "Some things are..." he reminded her softly.

Buffy looked up into his eyes, and smiled.

"Yeah. I guess some things are..." she agreed.


	4. Don't Kill the Messenger

Angel stretched out on the bed and looked up at Buffy, not entirely certain what the wicked look in her eye might mean. When she'd returned from patrol, she had simply ordered him to strip naked and lay on the bed to wait for her until she took a shower.

Now she approached him in all her shining clean, naked glory, one hand on the swell of her hip, and the other occupied by a number of silk scarves.

"Okay," she said, her voice low and throaty, "So I'm thinking...three months is like, a comfort zone, right?" She stood above him, holding out the fistful of scarves.

He just looked up at her and smiled, liking this already. Games were a penchant that had remained constant in Angel throughout the many phases of his existence.

So too, had his fondness for being dominated.

And doing this with Buffy... a shiver of anticipation shot through him. His grin spread, but he said nothing.

"Right," Buffy replied to herself, "So, comfort zone. That means fantasies are okay, right? I mean, that was what the graveyard was about the other night..."

He nodded. Her hesitation and nervousness were touching. It was natural, of course, for someone as young as Buffy to be a little anxious the first time she shared a sexual fantasy with a man...

Of course, there was the disturbing possibility that this wasn't the first time she had done so, but he shook the thought away and stretched his arms up above his head, crossing his wrists around the slats of the headboard helpfully.

Buffy laughed, "I see you know this one."

Angel nodded again, and tried to stop grinning like a simpleton. Soft B&amp;D games were supposed to be serious. But he was so happy to be playing one again, and with Buffy, no less, it was all he could do not to burst into song. Forcing a look of dignified neutrality on to his features, he lay waiting while she trussed him up like a turkey. When she was finished, he gave the bonds an exploratory tug. He was certain he could break them if he needed to, but he wouldn't. Not the way she was looking at him -- like he was a piece of fresh meat -- newly slaughtered prey, about to become a meal. Buffy's hungry eyes made him pretty sure he wouldn't feel any need to escape.

She knelt beside him on the bed and leaned back on her haunches, just taking her time looking him over, inch by delicious inch.

"I love your body," she told him softly.

He started to open his mouth to reply, but Buffy had popped up off the bed again. He smiled when she wasn't looking.

"I almost forgot one," she said, reaching into her bag and producing yet another scarf.

Angel watched her until she tied the black silk around his eyes and he was no longer able to see.

"Is that too tight?" she asked.

He shook his head. Even better -- being confined and visually deprived. The predator inside of him positively exploded in fury at being captured, but the anger quickly morphed to raging desire in a moment as he felt her weight settle back on the bed beside him.

"Don't talk," her silky voice ordered, "Just be still." Her presence was hypnotic, and Angel allowed her movements and words to guide his mind and body.

He tingled all over and felt his toes curl, then relax.

Buffy was something.

"Okay?" she asked.

He nodded once again.

"Okay," she said, and sat quietly, just looking at him for a mind-bending moment. By the time she spoke again, she noticed that he was already hard. And she hadn't even touched him yet.

Angel could smell her -- she was nervous, and excited. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest, and felt the way her life essence pumped through her with an extra heat.

He was suddenly very hungry.

Buffy let him lie there, partly because she knew the suspense would drive him crazy, and partly because she wasn't quite sure where to start. She had a lot of ideas -- some of which she'd gotten from a book Willow had lent her -- and "classic literature", no less; Angel would be so proud - "The Story of O".

Angel was an incredible subject for this kind of examination -- he lay utterly still, tense and waiting patiently. The only place where his body stirred was below the waist; his lack of breath or any other movement made him statue-like in his perfection.

Buffy took a deep breath. If she was going to keep control over this, she had to stay calm. But Angel was bigger than her, and she knew from experience how tough and terrifying he could really be. To think of dominating him in any way was almost uncomfortable. It felt wrong in a cave-man morality sort of way. Like, "Him man, me woman"... and she wasn't in her proper place.

Despite her wild DNA, she was a thoroughly modern American woman: red-blooded, young, chock full of junk food and violent television, and before her lay the most exquisite example of manhood she could ever have imagined. He was hers. She could do anything she wanted with him -- to him -- and he would let her. And like it.

She was shivering as she tentatively reached out and touched his muscular thigh, tracing its hard edges. Angel gasped loudly when her fingers made contact, the shock of sudden sensation almost overwhelming in his current state of darkness.

Taking that as a good sign, Buffy shifted closer until she was directly alongside him. She noticed that he was still no longer, as his habitual breath was becoming hard and fast. She softly stroked his skin with the palm of her hand, tickling the coarse hair on his calves, smoothing his thighs with a light touch, then slowly climbed astride him, making sure that nothing but her hands made contact.

Angel's breath began to slow and deepen, becoming labored and ragged, as her hot caress barely brushed over his aching skin. She swept up his legs, carefully avoiding his groin, not even touching his raging erection. Instead, she molded over his hips and up his tight lateral muscles, then moved across his chest, blanketing him in smooth, barely brushing strokes, up his throat, over each fine detail of his face.

Angel was awash in sensory overload. He wanted her so badly, it was quickly bordering on painful. Vampires were highly sensual creatures, relying on all of their senses to hunt. Once his eyes were covered, the others roared to life, and he was utterly consumed by what they registered: the thudding rush of her pulse... the aroma of her arousal-fired blood... the searing sensation of her hands on him...

Without warning, she climbed off and stood beside the bed, gazing down. He whimpered slightly in protest, straining against the silk that restrained him from touching her. The itching in his skin was almost unbearable... the urge to touch her overwhelming. He couldn't see what she was doing. He couldn't feel her movements. He didn't know that she stood, contemplating his perfect body, considering what to do next.

Finally, he felt her lips make soft contact with his, and he used his mouth to grab at hers hungrily, helpless to demonstrate his growing passion in any other way. His lips devoured hers, and he moaned softly as her tongue delved into his mouth and sought his, tangling with it briefly before caressing his palate and the edges of his teeth. She returned to his tongue, gently sucking it into her mouth and simulating actions his nether regions knew far too well, drawing him firmly in and out with the muscles of her cheeks. The usual recipient of her attentions twitched madly with jealous memory.

In a moment, she pulled away again, and Angel was once more left in the dark with no sensation but her heat radiating from beside him.

Buffy began repeating her earlier pilgrimage over his body, but this time the traveler was her mouth. She started gently sucking and nibbling his toes, then licked up over his ankles, his calves, his hard thighs and his pelvic bone, avoiding his erection once again. It strained to receive her attention, pulsing madly. She wondered briefly, for the thousandth time, how he could have a pulse when his heart didn't beat.

Angel broke the silence with a long hiss in response to her touch.

Buffy flicked her tongue gently, tracing the hard lines of his abdominal muscles, then trailed up to his chest, and lightly tapped his nipples with her tongue -- first one, then the other.

He moaned from deep within.

Still silent, Buffy took his right nipple between her teeth, and rapidly nibbled at it, flicking the point with her tongue.

"Oh... god..." Angel groaned.

She repeated the motion on the other nipple. He thought he might come just from that single touch. His entire being positively throbbed, desperate to look at her, to reach out and touch her... to grab her and impale her, fucking her until she screamed.

When Buffy pulled away again, he arched his back, straining the silken ties on his wrists.

"Uh uh uhhhh..." she warned.

"Please," he begged, "Let me touch you. I need to. Please..."

His pleading shot a hot throb between her legs, and Buffy had to struggle once again to keep her composure. She said nothing, but only turned her mouth's attentions back to his throat. She followed the lines of muscle, tendon, and Adam's apple, until she reached his jugular. She flicked its edges, long and soft with her tongue, then closed her blunt teeth around the thick vein firmly, and teased the skin, suckling it, simulating feeding.

He growled... a furious, demonic sound, and before she had a chance to move away, Angel snapped the wooden bars of the headboard, ripped the silk ties from his wrists and eyes, and flipped her over in a single, explosive motion. He slammed her onto the bed and rammed himself inside of her already sopping center, driving himself deep and fast to the hilt.

The shock of his animalistic attack frightened and thrilled her. Buffy glanced up and saw that his face had morphed, and he looked down at her with pure hunger burning in his amber eyes.

Her Slayer instincts told her to fight - raged that she was in terrible danger from the creature that impaled her to the bed. But the inferno that raged through her body as she raced toward orgasm overcame her instinct, instead causing her to tear at him violently in return, raking his back with her nails, and biting his chest and shoulders so hard, she drew blood.

The scent of his own blood drove the last bits of humanity from Angel's consciousness and action. Without hesitating, he dove to her throat, easily finding the thin scar at its base, and plunged his fangs deep into the soft flesh.

Buffy screamed as his razor-sharp teeth pierced her skin, and her body immediately went into quaking shock as she came, penetrated ultimately by her mate... her natural enemy.

Buffy's thick, magickal blood shot from her ruptured artery and over his tongue, washing his mouth and rushing in a hot gush down his throat. The beast that overtook him had been starved for her since the last time it fed from her veins, and the well-remembered taste made his body contract in pure ecstasy.

He only drank from her for a few moments while she bucked and writhed beneath him, still screaming his name at the top of her powerful lungs, deep in the grip of a seemingly endless climax. Some still-sane part of him forced Angel to release his jaws from her, and the moment the blood stopped flowing, he realized with horror what he had done, and leapt off his lover's still-thrashing body.

Buffy opened her eyes and glanced up, her senses bellowing in protest of her severed connection with him. She sat up slowly, panting and shaking uncontrollably. Angel sat at the end of the bed, cringing in shame and fear, horrified tears running down his cheeks and mixing with her blood staining his lips and chin.

"Buffy..." he whimpered, "I'm sorry..."

Without reply, she jumped on him, knocking him to the floor and impaling herself on his cock without reply. She was hungry for *him*, now. Famished. *Starving*. She attacked his mouth fiercely, forcing her tongue against his jagged fangs, running her flesh over the sharp edges until her blood ran free into his mouth once more.

Angel tried to pull away with the last of his control... tried to do the right thing and shove her off...spit her out, before this horror went too far. He felt her mouth pull away and begin searching him, looking for a soft place to sink her teeth and drink in return. He forced her head back, but was utterly unable to rein in the rest of his blood-fired body. He came, thrusting himself up into her while still pushing her away, letting out a howl that was half animal pleasure, half stark terror.

When he regained control once again, Angel pushed Buffy away, sending her tumbling to the floor with a soft thud. Weak from blood loss and confusion, she sat, out of breath and staring wildly up at him.

His face returned to normal as he buried it in his hands. He exhaled once, and then began to sob loudly, folding in on himself and turning away from her.

Buffy blinked, feeling her aching body already beginning to recover. She slowly slid over to where Angel sat and wrapped her arms around his shuddering frame. He flinched and tried to pull away, but she held him fast until he collapsed against her breast and wept.

"Sh..." she whispered, stroking his hair "It's okay... Sweetheart, I'm alright... shhh..."

He cried for what felt like a brief eternity. When he finally calmed, and could breathe again, he sat up and looked at her, his features drawn in a pained scowl. Buffy smiled, a small, tentative thing, and reached out to caress his face.

Her warm touch finally grounded and calmed him, and he moved closer until bare inches were all that separated them.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his tears cracking his voice.

Buffy leaned forward and kissed each of his bruised lips gently.

"Don't be," she said, looking into his eyes, "It was good."

He grimaced in horrified confusion. "I could have killed you. Or worse."

She shook her head, "You wouldn't have."

Angel's face softened in wonder at her utter lack of fear. How could she take such a vicious attack in stride, when he could still feel the hunger for the rest of her charmed blood roaring in his veins?

"It's okay to lose control sometimes, Angel..." she went on, "I can protect myself if it feels like we're going too far. And..." she cast her eyes shyly at the floor, "I liked it."

Some primal part of him thrilled to hear the words. But the more human part shrank from her, and from the very idea, in disgust. Above all of that, however, he loved her. Adored her and worshipped her for being able to love the monster that he was, without hesitation, without question, and with complete trust that even his demon wouldn't hurt her.

Whether that trust was misplaced was another question entirely.

It was the most intimate experience he'd ever had... the least control he'd ever felt, and his whole being hummed with the magickal fire of her blood. He was like a drunk, full to the breaking point with gallons of fine whiskey after having been sober for years.

He got up off the floor and gathered his clothes, getting dressed as Buffy watched him.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to scare you. I just... I wanted to..."

Angel stopped and looked down at her, confused and hurt by the vision of her sitting there, bare and glorious, her own blood smeared over all over her body.

"I know," he said, "It's just... I can't..." He let his arms drop limply to his sides and sank down onto the bed. Buffy climbed up and sat beside him, putting her hand on his arm.

"You can't drink me..." she guessed, "Why?"

He gave her a pained look, as if the answer should be obvious.

"Angel, you'd have to nearly kill me before you could turn me. I'd never let it get that far," she assured him.

"Are you trying to comfort me? Because, just for the record, it isn't working," he commented morosely.

Buffy smiled and hugged him.

"You can't kill me, Angel. It's not in your programming. Even Angelus couldn't," she reminded him.

He shook his head. "Buffy... we just... we can't do that. It's... it's..."

"It's what?" she asked.

"It's disgusting, that's what!" he yelped.

Buffy put her hand around the back of his head and pulled him down to rest his forehead against hers.

"It's not," she said, "It's... beautiful, with you. It's like... you're taking me inside of you." She pressed her cheek against his. "You're warm... almost like I brought you back to life."

Angel opened his eyes and looked into hers, his heart breaking at the unshakable faith he could see written in their misty depths.

"You have," he said softly, taking her hand and pressing its palm to his lips. "You do. Every day."

They smiled at one another in the dark, their shared blood thrumming like a new bond between them.

**********************************************************************

Xander wrinkled up his nose at the smoking cauldron on the pedestal in front of him, Willow, and Tara.

"God, what is that? Eau de Corpse?" he complained.

"It's myrrh, lemon peel, and sulfur," Tara told him, "Effective -- if stinky -- protection for astral travel."

Xander looked at the strange new addition to their gang. "Uh huh. Okay, good. If any of us ever decide to give up more conventional means of transport..."

"We might need it," she told him.

Willow smiled at them. It was nice to see they were... kind of getting along...

It always struck her as strange, the way scary, complicated things pulled her friends together, even when the rest of their lives didn't seem to mesh anymore. She looked over at Giles and Angel, who conferred quietly over a pile of books on the ex-Watcher's dining table. It was nice to have Angel there again, too. She only wished she knew more about this prophecy he insisted he heard "from a friend." An unexpected return? Willow didn't even want to begin wondering who -- or what -- that might be.

On the other side of the room ex-Watcher and vampire read, each with an intense expression of concentration on his face.

Giles read the single paragraph of text in front of him one more time. Angel had a far better knowledge of this particular strange demon language than he himself could ever hope for.

"Are you certain that's what it says?" he asked him.

"No," Angel replied, "But it's similar to the Rychian dialect, which is the closest to the Michtah as we're going to get."

The ex-watcher slammed his book shut. "Damn it. It's gibberish. We need the original text -- or at least the Romanian translation," he lamented.

Angel frowned darkly at yet another mention of the Gypsies. They were entirely too involved in this business for his comfort.

Giles glanced over to make sure the others were still fully occupied, and then leaned close to Angel again.

"Oz is certain this Old Gypsy woman is trustworthy," he asked the vampire, keeping his voice low.

"He is," Angel replied. ((But I'm not...))

"Well, when does he plan on joining us? We need more information that I can glean from any of my sources," Giles went on, "And this 'unexpected return' could be anyone -- or any *thing*. I haven't found any other references to such an event."

Angel felt another feverish shiver run through him. The past few days since his meeting with Oz in LA and the blood-drinking incident with Buffy, he'd been feeling increasingly ill and out of sorts. A fear was growing, emanating from his soul, that he already knew what the 'unexpected return' might be. And he doubted that anything Giles or the others might do would be able to prevent it.

Except for the Final Solution...

But he didn't want to go there. Not yet. Not until he was certain.

((Of course, by the time I am certain, Buffy and all of her friends could be dead.))

"I don't know," he finally replied, struggling to hide both his thoughts and his discomfort, "He didn't say. He implied that he needed a couple more months to perfect the magick."

Giles sighed, "By then, it may be too late," he lamented.

"I don't think so," Angel replied, "The prophecy seemed pretty linear -- Oz would return, and then whatever is coming will appear."

"Then perhaps you and Buffy should seek out this colony of his, and speak to the seer yourself."

A look of pure distaste blighted the vampire's face.

"Is something wrong?" Giles asked, noting his tension.

"I'm not fond of Gypsies," Angel replied honestly.

A flash of Jenny's lovely face... and her twisted, broken body... flashed before Giles' eyes, "No, I imagine you wouldn't be," he said, not unsympathetic, "Perhaps Buffy and I should go, then."

"No. That's not necessary," he assured Giles, "I'll go alone. I don't want to involve Buffy unless we absolutely have to." Besides, he fully intended on getting some deeper answers of his own from the Gypsy woman, and Buffy's presence would only force him to hold back.

"Alright," Giles agreed, "If you think that's wise."

"I do," Angel told him.

Better that they all be as far away from him as possible.

**********************************************************************

Willow and Tara left Giles' house just before sunset. They walked slowly, close together, each lost in their own thoughts. After a moment, Willow looked over at her lover and sister Witch, and noticed that she was frowning.

"What's the matter?" she asked, taking Tara's hand.

The blonde didn't meet her eyes. "Nothing," she said vaguely.

Willow stopped and looked into her face, "Tara... tell me."

Tara raised her big blue eyes to Willow, and her heart leapt in her chest at the sight of the concern she found there.

"I... I can't... I m-mean... I d-don't... I d-don't know..." she lied.

Willow led her by the hand to the nearby bus stop bench and sat down. "We've never lied to each other before, why would you want to start now?" she asked softly.

Tara looked into her kind brown eyes, and immediately felt worse. How could she tell Willow about her dreams... the visions she'd been having? All of the painful and terrifying things she'd been seeing with her third eye for the past couple of days? Demons... vampires... werewolves... For a while, she'd just thought she was going crazy; that maybe falling in love threw her senses off balance, somehow.

"I've been having... dreams. Seeing things. Horrible things," she said.

Fear immediately colored Willow's face, "Like what? Tara, you have to tell me."

Tara sighed deeply. "Why didn't you tell me Oz was a werewolf?"

Willow flinched noticeably, and pulled away, "What... I don't..."

"I've been dreaming about him. All of this -- this prophecy Angel told us about? It came from him," she told her.

"What?!" Tears immediately sprang to the redhead's eyes, "How do you know? What do you mean?"

Tara bowed her head. "I've been seeing him in my dreams. I know where he is."

Willow could swear her heart stopped.

"You... you know... what?" she asked weakly.

"I know he's a werewolf. I know where he is. And I know he's been in contact with Angel," Tara said.

Shocked, Willow sagged into herself and said nothing. She had finally begun to let Oz go -- to let him get on with whatever soul-searching he needed to do. She loved him enough to finally accept what he had told her and set him free, at least in her heart. She often wondered how he was and what he was doing, but since Tara, she hadn't wanted to really know. Now, her new lover was dreaming about him? She knew where he was and what he was doing? And Angel, too? Why didn't anybody say anything? Did Buffy know? Xander? Everyone but her?

"Oh," was all she could manage to say.

"I'm sorry, Willow. I should have told you. But, I didn't want to because I wasn't sure what it was, at first... what it meant. I thought they were just dreams. You know, dealing with everything that's been going on between us, and the whole scene with Buffy and Angel the other night? But then he told us about the prophecy... and..."

"It all started making sense," Willow finished bitterly.

Tara nodded sadly.

"Then Giles must know, too. Angel would have told him everything..." Willow mused aloud.

"Willow..." Tara said, not liking where she thought her friend might be going with this.

"Do you think Giles will send Angel and Buffy to go talk to him? I mean... or maybe he's coming back..." she babbled on.

Tara reached out and grabbed Willow's hand. "Stop. Stop this. You're just torturing yourself. We don't know what any of this means!" She looked away from her once again, "Willow... it's Oz who starts all of this. When he reappears in your lives is when all the bad stuff starts to happen..."

Willow glared at her, snatching her hand away, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Tara flinched. "I...I just... he..."

Willow jumped to her feet. "You're just making this up! You're just trying to turn me against Oz because you know he's coming back to me, and you're jealous!"

"No!" Tara objected, "The prophecy..."

"The prophecy doesn't have anything to do with Oz! Nothing!" She screeched.

Tara tried not to cringe at Willow's fury raining down on her. She knew things had ended badly between Oz and Willow, but she had no idea that there was still so much unresolved anger in her lover.

"He's putting us all in danger, Willow..." she said gently, "Whatever he's been d-doing, it's d-dangerous! When y-you're all reunited, his magick releases things! Bad things!"

Willow's face contorted in rage and misery. "How dare you? You don't know anything about Oz! Or the rest of us, for that matter! You're crazy!" she shrieked, and before Tara could stop her, ran off into the night.

Tara sat, helpless, and watched her go. She wanted desperately to chase her... to sit and talk this out with her... make Willow understand that what she was saying wasn't personal at all -- it was simply what she'd seen. But at this point, it looked like there was only one way she would really be able to help Willow and her friends:

She would have to go back and talk to Angel and Mr. Giles.

**********************************************************************

"I don't get it," Doyle repeated, looking woefully at the stack of manila folders in his hand, "Why does Mrs. Ferguson go under "B" again?"

Cordelia looked up from the drawer, "Are both of you retarded? Don't you ever read these files? B... BITCH. Jeez! How hard is that?"

Doyle scowled and looked at the file again. "Angel had better hope you never quit, Princess... or he'll never be able to find anything."

She stood up and glared at him, "Okay, Mr. I'm The World's Greatest Filer, where would YOU put it?"

Doyle jumped off the counter and stood beside her. She smelled so good, like cinnamon and vanilla... the way her thick chestnut hair tumbled down her slim shoulders... the way her tanned back sloped down into her tiny waist, and then out again into the full curves of her...

"HELLO!? Earth to Leering Leprechaun Boy!"

Doyle snapped out of his adoring reverie and found that, despite Cordelia's annoyed tone, she was smiling at him. Still holding the files in one hand, he came around behind her, and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Look, Dearheart," he said, holding up the first file and speaking softly and directly in her ear, "Ferguson, F. Or maybe H, for haunting. And Mr. Walker? W, possibly... or D for demon. You see where I'm going with this?"

Cordy leaned back into his embrace. "Is this really advice on filing, or a lame excuse to feel me up?"

He grinned and spun her around to face him. "Which would you rather it be?" he asked softly, his lips mere inches from hers.

Her smile broadened. "You don't really need an excuse..."

Their lips softly met, and they held one another close as the kiss deepened. He trailed his kisses behind her ear and down her fine neck.

"I can't get enough of ye, Miss Cordelia Chase. The taste of yer skin is better than fine whiskey."

"Is that why you haven't had anything to drink all week?" she asked breathlessly.

He chuckled, "Oh, so you noticed that, didya? Well, I'm quite drunk enough on yourself," he said, and slowly backed her toward Angel's office. Their boss was still in Sunnydale, making his own fun with the Slayer. He wouldn't mind... or at least, he probably wouldn't notice. As long as they burned some incense in there or something after...

"If you tell me you're high on life, I swear I'll neuter you," she teased.

Doyle lifted her up on top of Angel's desk and kissed her until she moaned.

"No ye won't..." he said, and gently pushed her back, working the ties of her tank top.

"No. I won't..." she whispered, and lost herself in the feeling of his warm, gentle hands on her skin. Truth was, she couldn't get enough of him, either.

The ringing of the phone screamed through the office, making both of them jump to their feet, looking around nervously.

"Damn," Doyle complained, "Now I need a drink."

Clutching her undone shirt to her chest, Cordy shot him a look and picked up the phone.

"Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless," she said too cheerfully.

"It's me," Angel replied.

Cordy looked at Doyle frantically.

"Nothing! We weren't doing anything!" she yelped.

Angel sighed. He didn't have time for games. "I'm going to be gone for a couple more days. I need you guys to pull the volumes of The Red Prophecies that have to do with werewolf magick. And see if you can find anything on any sects that studied them -- find out if there are any well-known ways of inducing or stopping the lunar change cycle."

"Angel, what's going on?" Cordy asked, suddenly concerned.

"I don't know yet. But we need to find out as much as we can about the spells Oz has been learning at the compound. And whatever you find, I want you to tell Giles right away," he told her, "I'm going up there to talk to the elders myself."

"What? The were-people or whatever? Why?"

Doyle stared at her, gesturing that he wanted to know what was happening.

"Something's coming, Cordelia. They know exactly what, why and how we can stop it. I intend to find that out."

"But where..."

"Cordelia, please!"

Was that fear she heard in his voice? That, more than anything, frightened her.

"Okay," she promised, "We'll get right on it."

"Good. And Cordy..."

"Yeah?"

"Please don't have sex on my desk," Angel pleaded, and hung up.

**********************************************************************

When Buffy got out of the shower, she was surprised to hear Angel moving around in the bedroom. She came in, ready to happily greet him, when she noticed that he was packing his bag.

"Hey," she said, coming up from behind and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Angel went rigid, gulped, and forced himself to relax again, "Hey," he said, "How was patrol?"

She came around and sat beside his bag on the bed, looking up at him. His face was tense and preoccupied, his gaze distant.

"Obviously, better than your night. Where are you going?"

Angel stopped and looked at her. He adored this woman so completely... had loved every moment that they'd shared the past few months so much, that he would do anything to not let the bubble of joy around them burst. He didn't want to leave her there alone, maybe forever, to go out and find gods knew what from some old gypsy crone in the Sierra Mountains. He wanted to fall into her arms and just forget everything about their jobs... their sacred duties... their past...

But he knew he couldn't. If he didn't find some answers now, he might never be able to hold her again. And that was an unacceptable possibility.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said, trying not to look at her as he lied, "I have to go back to LA. Just for a couple of days. Doyle needs my help with this case they've been working on."

Buffy could feel his tension rippling around him, but wrote it off to all the things he must have on his mind: the prophecy, LA, what had happened between them the other night... He had refused to talk about it since. She gently reached out and touched his hand, "You guys didn't find out anything new about the prophecy, did you?" she asked.

Angel looked into her eyes at last, and fought the sudden urge to cry. What if this was the last time he saw her like this? What if the next time they met, they were...

He shook the thought away. "No," he said, "Nothing."

Buffy nodded and pulled her legs up beneath her. "We'll figure it out, don't worry. We have a couple of months still before Oz comes back. Plenty of time. We've fought worse with less time to prepare..."

He didn't share what little he already did know... what he hadn't even told Giles: that he suspected Oz had already come back, by running into him and Buffy in San Francisco. The events were already set in motion. All that was left now was to keep the damage to a minimum. He didn't understand all of the details yet, but there was little doubt in what direction events were headed. He could feel it down to the depths of his soul.

"Yeah," he said vaguely, looking away and resuming his packing.

Buffy stopped his hands and tilted his gaze back to hers.

"You don't have to leave, you know. I know you're still upset about what happened the other night, but I wish you would stop beating yourself up over it."

Angel looked into her loving, trusting eyes and felt like a terminal heel for everything that was happening. He could feel it, right then, burning just on the edge of his consciousness. Long-suppressed urges... desires better left in the shadows of his past. And she thought it was as simple as his shame for having drunk her blood once again. There was that... but now, there was so much more besides. So much worse still to come, if he didn't act quickly.

He hated lying to her more than anything. Now, especially, when this might be the last time they spoke.

He crushed that line of thought with sheer strength of will.

"It's not that..." he replied, finally feeling strong enough to push his bag aside and sit down beside Buffy, "Not just that, anyway... I mean... you just don't know. You can't know what it feels like, to drink you..."

She sat up straighter beside him, her heart pounding at the memory. Angel turned and looked into her eyes with an expression she couldn't identify.

"You're magick, Buffy," he whispered, "All of you is magick. Drinking you is like... glutting myself on rich foods and fine wine. And I've been eating plain white rice for a hundred years... give or take. It's... too much."

Buffy stared at him, unable to respond.

"I can't explain it to you," he went on, "But drinking blood is a sensation most humans can't begin to imagine. It's such an intimate act -- the ultimate act - taking in someone else's life essence. Mortals aren't built for it, and most vampires don't care about the spiritual aspect. For them, it's like stopping at the drive-through for a burger. But I..." he hesitated, holding his breath, "With you... it's... indescribable. Profound."

Unable to look away from his burning eyes, Buffy reached up and touched his cheek. He was almost warm, as if feverish, and sweating. She remembered other times his skin had been so warm and flushed... when he'd recently fed... when he was human... But his familiar dead pallor was always on the vision of his beloved face in her mind. It was that face that she loved above all else.

"Maybe I'm not built for it," she told him softly, "Maybe I can't really understand what it means. But I know that when you have..." the memory sent another shudder through her, "It's so intense. So incredible. But it doesn't scare me."

"It scares *me*," he retorted, "It's an animal that lives inside of me, Buffy. A wild animal, only different from Oz's wolf in its intelligence and calculated cruelty. I can't control it. Not really... not when we're... intimate. And not when I feed from you, especially."

"But..."

"No. Please, Buffy. This isn't some sex game where we can stop with a safety word. If I lose control, you're not going to be bruised or cut, or have your feelings hurt. You could die. And that's not sexy."

She moved closer to him. "No? You don't think danger is sexy?" she purred, "What about our little game in the cemetery the other night?"

Angel yanked away from her and leapt to his feet.

"That was different! And no, I don't think dying horribly is sexy! If you have any respect for everything I've had to struggle with for a century, you wouldn't either!" he snapped. He could feel irrational fury boiling in his gut, and the itching started again. He had to get away from her, before this got out of control.

Buffy cringed, "I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"THINK? No, Buffy, you never do!" he shouted, grabbed his bag, and left without looking back.

Buffy stared after him, too shocked and hurt to move.


	5. The Big Bad

"And Oz... brings forth this demon?" Giles asked, still incredulous that Willow's new friend had been in possession of such imperative information, and had not immediately come forward with it.

"Not exactly," Tara explained, "It wasn't all that clear. Something about Oz c-connecting with his friends again releases some kind of binding magick on something. He comes back into their lives, and..."

"All Hell breaks loose. Literally. Damn," Giles chewed the end of his pen, "So it's not his return to Sunnydale that releases this demon. It is his reunion with the others."

Tara nodded.

"My God... so these events might already be happening without our knowledge."

Tara nodded again.

"This demon... you're certain it was a demon?"

"No," Tara told him, "It was just... evil. And when it comes, it gathers an army... vampires, mostly, but other things too."

"Can you describe any of the others?" Giles asked, furiously noting everything she said.

Tara explained the dream again, in as much detail as she could, which was unfortunately not much. She'd never actually come face to face with a vampire, or any other kind of demon, for that matter, with Angel being the notable exception. And he certainly didn't look like any of the demons in her dream.

Only...

"There is one more thing," she concluded.

Giles paused, pen poised over his notebook, "Yes..."

"All of this? It's not just about Oz... or demons or vampires. There was an old gypsy woman in my dream, too. And Angel. She did something to him."

She went on, but Giles didn't hear her. He was already diving for the phone.

**************************************************

The drive into the Sierras was calming, the sweet smell of pines and clean air filling Angel's dead lungs, making him almost feel in control again.

He knew he shouldn't have been so hard on Buffy. She was young, and despite being the Slayer, really only had a rudimentary understanding of vampirehood. She didn't understand its deeper, more metaphysical aspects. Like the time she had gained the ability to read minds -- she was never clear on why she was unable to read his. She knew the mechanics of things like photography vs. mirrors, how vampires are sired, how they are destroyed and the like. But the curse... the disease that lay behind it... these were things she couldn't possibly fathom. Half the time, he couldn't wrap his mind around them himself, and they were his burden to bear.

Buffy knew, intellectually, what he had to struggle with every day. And she knew from experience what could happen if he somehow lost that struggle. But he didn't think she had ever imagined how close to the surface the demon constantly was -- the degree of concentration it took for him to keep the monster within him at bay.

He wondered if she ever considered how central Angelus was to his very existence. Did she ever think about the fact that, if it weren't for the evil within him, that he would have been long dead? Or that some of the most blissful moments in his life involved hot blood spurting from a ruptured artery into his mouth? That his clearest sensory memory was the taste of her -- the manic feeling of her blood rushing through his veins?

Angel doubted that she did. How could she, and still profess to love him?

The itch in his skin was easing, turning to a dull, burning sensation that was easy to ignore. What was not easy to ignore was his growing hunger. He was positively starving, and could have kicked himself for not feeding before he left. If he was famished, his control would be that much more tenuous.

His head throbbed, and he could swear he suddenly smelled blood everywhere. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor and swore to himself for the thousandth time that he'd get rid of this piece of junk one day and buy himself a sports car.

If he lived through this, that is...

He was overwhelmed by the stench of living blood. The sweet, delicious aroma coated his senses, like the car was suddenly full of it.

((Wait a minute...))

Angel sniffed the air again, paying closer attention to the sensory signals his brain was receiving and finally peered back over his shoulder.

"Willow?"

The redhead popped up from behind the passenger seat, scaring him so badly, he almost drove off the road.

"SHIT!" He exclaimed.

"Hi. Thanks for the ride," she said nervously.

"Are you nuts? What are you doing?" he snapped at her.

Willow cringed a little, but steeled herself, knowing she was absolutely in the right by stowing away.

"I'm going with you to see Oz," she said.

Angel pulled over to the shoulder.

"No you're not," he said, turning to look back at her, "I'm taking you back. This isn't a social call."

"I don't care! You can't! I have a right..." she argued, "You should have told me you saw him!"

Angel struggled to keep his anger and frustration, plus his physical discomfort, in check, and his voice remained calm, "We promised him we wouldn't tell you, Willow..."

"We?!" she squeaked, "We WHO?!"

Oops. Angel really despised the taste of shoe leather in his mouth.

He sighed. "Buffy and I saw him in San Francisco. Willow, he's not ready to come back yet. And we promised we would let him contact you in his own time," he informed her gently.

Willow glared at him. "And you thought that was okay? What about all this prophecy business? You should have told me the truth about all that! How did you expect me and Tara to help when we didn't have all the information?!" her voice dropped, "Or at least, I didn't..."

Angel looked at her, pity and protectiveness for his friend wash over him. She had never been anything but kind to him, even when the others had not, and she was the best friend Buffy ever had. Besides, he knew how it hurt to be left out... to be separated from the one you love.

"This isn't a good time for a confrontation, Willow. There are other things we need to worry about, here. Dangerous things. I need Oz... and you... to stay focused. We need to stop what's happening. I don't mean to sound cold, but we have to put our personal stuff aside right now."

((Except mine. My 'personal stuff' *is* the danger.))

Willow looked him squarely in the eye, "I have to see him," she insisted.

Witch and vampire stared one another down.

"You don't know about Resolve Face, do you?" Willow added for good measure.

Angel sighed and restarted the engine.

"All right. Then you might as well come sit up front," he relented, and pulled back out on the road.

**************************************************

"Giles, stop shouting! I can't understand you!" Cordelia barked into the phone.

Doyle looked up from the police report he'd been reading in surprise. To his knowledge, Giles had never called the office before when the Slayer wasn't visiting.

"Okay, okay, wait a minute. No, Angel is not here. He said he was going to find Oz."

Doyle could practically hear Rupert shouting from ten feet away.

"No, I don't know where! He was fine when he called... a little upset, maybe. Who? Who's Tara? She's Willow's WHAT? Oh, you're kidding!" she plunked down in her chair, Gossip Face firmly in place, "Our little Willow's a lesbian? Oh my god!"

The shouting got louder on the other end, And Doyle clearly heard Giles say,

"CORDELIA, PLEASE! WE MUST STOP ANGEL FROM REACHING OZ'S CAMP!"

Doyle got up and stood over her.

"I can try him on the cell," she offered, "What's going on, Giles?"

"There's no time to explain fully. Hang up and call Angel immediately. Do not wait. This is a matter of utmost urgency! If he reaches the compound, there is a distinct possibility that we may all be in very grave danger!" Giles went on.

"What? Giles, you're babbling. What are you talking about?" Cordelia asked.

There was silence for a moment. Doyle would have bet twenty bucks the ex-Watcher was trying to collect himself and not freak out on Cordy. Probably counting to a thousand or something. She had that effect on even the most unflappable people...

"Angelus, Cordelia. We are talking about ANGELUS. You must hang up, RIGHT NOW."

Without further encouragement, she did, and immediately punched in the memory number for Angel's cell phone. It rang once... twice...

"The CalTel customer you have reached is currently out of the service area...."

She hung up again and looked up at Doyle. "Oh god," she moaned.

"What? Delia, what is it? Did he say 'Angelus'?"

Cordelia looked up into her new lover's eyes, and let her sudden tears of confusion, panic, and disbelief fall.

"Oz is going to turn Angel back into Angelus," she told him.

Doyle froze. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Giles said... something about Willow's new girlfriend having all these dreams... and that Angel is... when he gets to Oz... the magick they use..." She broke down, unable to go on. Doyle stared at her, unable to even move to comfort her.

"Jesus H. Tap-dancin' Christ..." he mumbled.

**************************************************

The camp was nothing like what Angel had expected. Ten or twelve small wooden buildings were built in a wide circle, spread out evenly over several acres of cleared land deep in the forest. A single, much larger building, a fire pit, pavilion, and a playground occupied the center. It looked for all the world like some children's summer camp.

The magick was so thick in the air, he was barely able to do more than perform the rudimentary movements of cutting the car's engine. Once he did, he sat, chanting the Ohm in his head to keep himself from running in terror... or becoming violently ill.

"Angel, are you okay?" Willow asked from beside him.

It took great effort for him to turn his head to look at her. He blinked, as if he'd forgotten she was there, but didn't respond.

"Angel..."

Her repeated question was interrupted by a knock on Angel's window. They both jumped and turned to face the newcomer.

Oz looked in at them impassively, while Angel forced himself to roll the window down.

"Hey," Oz said, his eyes never leaving Willow's, "We've been expecting you."

**************************************************

Buffy lay in Angel's bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the last three months in her mind. Where had she gone wrong? What had she done to make Angel so mad at her that he felt he had to leave -- again? So he'd been creeped out by his loss of control the other night. It wasn't that big of a deal, was it? She was the Slayer -- if she felt like things were getting out of hand, she could defend herself perfectly well. She was never in any real danger from Angel, anyway...

She knew what he was thinking -- the Curse. Why had the curse held when they got back together? What could break it again, if anything?

They didn't know. That was the problem. Maybe they should have tried to find out. But how? Nothing they had tried when Angel had been haunted by the First seemed to help. Where could they turn for these kinds of answers? The Oracles didn't even seem to know what happened.

Whatever. The curse had held. Did it really matter why?

((An unexpected return...))

Buffy pushed the thought out of her mind and turned over, ignoring the ringing of the phone as she closed her eyes. He'd be back. She'd let him think it through, and when he returned, maybe they could consult the Oracles again.

Whatever happened, she knew in her heart that they could handle it. Together.

**************************************************

"Damn it!" Giles cursed, and slammed the phone back on its cradle.

"She's not there?" Anya asked. She couldn't help but be a little excited at the possibility of Angelus' return -- what she'd heard about him sounded so... sexy.

"No," Giles replied, yanking his glasses from his face and wiping his bleary eyes. He was terrified, and could barely hide it from the others in the room.

"I knew this was going to happen!," Xander shouted, pacing the living room furiously, "I told her! But no! She never listens to me! What the Hell do I know? That bastard only almost killed me, what, two, three times? DAMN IT!"

Tara watched him. She could feel the mix of fear and sadness in the air, and it was making her nervous. She still didn't think she really understood what was happening, even though Giles had briefly explained the Angelus situation, and what happened last time. Sweet Angel, a killer? His aura had been a pure, warm blue... he was filled with nothing but love and good intentions, as far as she could tell. How could he be a cold-blooded murderer?

"We need to locate Willow," Giles said to her, breaking her reverie, "We will certainly require both of your strengths."

Tara nodded. "I understand. But I don't know where she went. I tried to tell her about the visions, but she got mad and ran off."

"You told her about OZ?" Xander yelped.

"Yes. I mean, I had to. I couldn't lie to her... and the whole prophecy thing..."

"Oh God," Xander moaned, running his hands through his hair, "This can't possibly get any worse!"

"Shouldn't we find Buffy?" Anya asked, "I mean, won't he go after her first?"

Giles, Xander and Tara all looked at each other.

"I stand corrected," Xander said.

**************************************************

"Oh God, poor Buffy," Cordelia lamented, "Doyle, what are we going to do?"

The half-demon looked at her. His own fear for his good friend, and his sorrow at possibly losing him -- or worse, having to kill him -- almost overwhelmed his sense of logic. Steeling himself, and pushing the emotions away, he reached down and helped Cordelia out of her chair.

"We research. Pull those books Angel asked us to before he left. Then we call Giles," he said, and began to guide her to the stairs to Angel's apartment.

"That won't be necessary," came a crisp British voice from the front door. Cordelia and Doyle both turned to look at the newcomer.

"Wesley?" Cordelia gasped.

The Watcher stood, regarding the strange pair -- the lovely Cordelia and her rumpled friend -- carefully.

"I believe I know what to do," he said, "But we must get to Sunnydale as quickly as we can."

**************************************************

The room was cozy and warm, despite the overwhelming magick that almost made Angel wretch. Oz left him standing in the doorway of the firelit receiving area, waiting.

"Angelus," came a grizzled voice from the far corner, "Please, sit down."

He looked over and saw the Gypsy woman sitting Indian-style on an old couch, her tarot deck spread on a small table before her. Angel ignored the increasing crawling sensation in his flesh from the increased power of her wards as he approached her, and obeyed, finally easing his body onto the chair directly across from the old woman.

His eyes stung and his throat burned, and he had to strain to hear her low voice above the whining tone that ripped through his head.

"You are uncomfortable," Old Emma said, looking at him sympathetically, "Here. Allow me to help you." She reached a wizened hand toward him, and Angel instinctively flinched, backing away from it. Old Emma blinked in surprise, then smiled at his reaction.

"I won't harm you. I will only loosen the wards against you, so that we may speak calmly."

He stayed still, shaking, desperately fighting his instinct to run as she touched him. The tumultuous sensations in his body eased some -- enough for him to focus -- but didn't dissipate entirely.

"What have you done to me?" he hissed.

The old woman frowned darkly, "My people are not fond of the undead, as you well know," she told him.

Angel snarled and struggled against the urge to rip the ancient gypsy apart.

"That doesn't answer my question," he said from behind clenched teeth.

Emma regarded his handsome features patiently, her expression unreadable.

"No, it does not. I will tell you what you want to know, but I am afraid it is... too late for you to stop what has begun. All there is for you to do now is prepare."

Angel's head spun. He fought the mixture of rage, terror and sorrow that clenched his chest, and kept his posture and expression neutral as he listened to the Old Witch's story of his impending demise.

**************************************************

Buffy kicked the vampire so hard, it's neck snapped, and it crumpled to the ground, howling senselessly. Sighing, she quickly bent down and staked it.

"I was hoping for a little better fight than that," she complained as it turned to dust.

Her wish came true in another moment, as she sensed another demon charging from the nearby bushes. She turned toward it.

"Oh good," she said, "A second chance."

"Slayer..." the vampire hissed, and came at her.

Buffy grimaced bitterly as she kicked it in the face. "You know, you guys really need a new writer," she told it.

Her thoughts were soon consumed with battle, just as she had hoped they would be, instead of the nagging regret and sadness that had dogged her since her fight with Angel, and the sinking sensation that that single fight wouldn't even be close to the end of their problems.

**************************************************

"If you say you're sorry one more time, I swear," Willow threatened, "I will break your face!"

Oz looked at her little fist, cocked and ready to flatten him, and resisted both the urge to laugh, and a matching one... to cry. He'd missed her so much... he hadn't realized just how much until he saw Angel's car appear with her in the passenger seat.

"Well, I am."

Willow shot him a warning look.

Oz sighed and fidgeted with the only piece of jewelry he wore; a simple silver band. It was a symbol of what he had achieved so far, decorated only with a single, delicately carved quarter moon. There would be another, and then a full, before the ring would be complete, the magick sealed, and he would be ready to return to the world outside again.

He wondered if Willow's was the 'unexpected return'. He also wondered how Angel's audience with Old Emma was going -- if she really had all the answers he was looking for. But most of all, he wondered if Willow hated him.

"Will...I know that I hurt you by leaving... by not keeping in touch. But... can't you understand why I had to?" he asked.

She scowled at him, "No," she said curtly, "I can't. You could have turned to us. We could have helped you."

Oz shook his head. "Willow, if Buffy hadn't been there, I would have killed you. We could never be sure I wouldn't escape again... you would never be really safe around me, unless I learned to control the change," he moved closer to her and reached out to touch her face, "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you."

Willow frowned, angry with herself for the urge she felt to just to give in and grab him in a crushing embrace, tell him all was forgiven, and never let him go again. She wanted to -- desperately wanted to. But she was still so hurt and angry that she just couldn't let him off so easily.

"You still could have called... or... or written. Hired a skywriter or a candy-gram or something -- just to let us know you were okay!" she insisted, her voice tight.

Tears began to well in Oz's eyes, "Why, Willow? So I could hurt you all over again?" he shook his head, "I couldn't. Not until I was sure."

Willow opened her mouth to argue, but frantic pounding on Oz's door interrupted her. He paused and looked at it for a moment before he got up. It wasn't locked, and around there, an unlocked door was more or less an open invitation.

Oz opened it, and stumbled back in surprise. The door swung wide, and Willow saw Angel leaning heavily against the doorframe, bathed in sweat and panting loudly.

"Angel," Oz said, immediately alarmed, "Come..."

Angel's hand flew up. "Don't invite me in," he choked.

Oz stared at him. "What..."

"Willow!" Angel called, seeing the redhead sitting on the far side of the room.

Without hesitation, she got up and stood beside Oz in front of him.

Angel could barely stand up straight... could barely focus anymore. But he had to warn them... had to warn Buffy and the others of what was about to happen. He reached into his coat pocket and held out two envelopes and his car keys in his shaking hand.

"Angel, what is it? What's wrong?" Willow asked frantically, reaching out to help him.

He backed away. "No. Don't touch me. Stay where you are. Take these," he held out the envelopes, "One is for Giles. The other is for Buffy. Please make sure they get them. Here," he tossed her the keys, "Wait ten minutes, and then get the Hell out of here. Drive as fast as you can. Get back to Sunnydale. Tell the others."

Willow fought twin urges: one to panic, and the other the need to help her obviously suffering friend. "Tell them what? Angel, what's going on? What's wrong with you?"

Angel turned his bloodshot eyes to Oz. "Maybe you should ask your precious Old Emma," he snarled. His face softened as he looked back to Willow, tears beginning to spill down his face. "Willow, please... do as I say. And tell Buffy..." he trailed off.

"Tell her what?" Willow whispered, glad to feel Oz's arm come around her.

Angel raised his eyes a final time as he began to back slowly away from the door.

"Please tell her... I'm sorry. And... I meant every word I said to her. Except the last ones."

Then he turned and bolted, and was quickly enveloped in the stygian black of the forest. As soon as the vampire was out of sight, Oz gave Willow a little squeeze, then followed.

"Wait!" she shouted at him, "Where are you going? Angel said..."

Oz turned to look at her, hurt and anger blazing behind his usually placid blue eyes.

"You heard him. I'm going to talk to the Grandmother," he told her, "Stay here until I come back. Lock the door. And don't let anyone in but me. Especially Angel. If I'm not back in ten minutes, do as he said. Get back to Giles and the others."

He turned and ran off toward the center of the compound.

"Oz, wait!" Willow screamed, "WAIT!"

But he was already gone. Quaking uncontrollably and quickly breaking down, she locked the door and shuffled backward to Oz's bed. She sat down and looked at the things Angel had given her: two white envelopes and a set of keys on a chain shaped like a golden angel.

Willow could remember with perfect clarity the day that she and her best friend had been shopping in the mall, and Buffy bought the trinket for him. She turned it over and read the inscription on the back.

"Always, no matter what. Buffy," it said.

Willow burst into tears.


	6. Unexpected Return

"The Council sent me to rectify the situation," Wesley concluded, "I came on the next available flight."

"Rectify," Doyle quoted bitterly, "You mean kill him."

Wesley looked the strange man straight in the eye, "Yes, if necessary."

Cordelia looked up for the first time since Wesley had first arrived. She had sat, huddled against Doyle and crying softly as the Watcher told his story.

"You can't!" she cried, "You can't kill him! He's done so much good!"

"It matters little what good Angel has done, Cordelia. If the Council's seers and prophecies are correct, and Angelus is about to return, we certainly cannot take the chance of having him run amok in the world. And, do not forget, there can be little doubt that the two of you will be among his first victims."

Cordelia yelped and began to cry harder, falling against Doyle's chest. The half-demon wrapped his arms around her and glared at the Englishman before him.

He was still confused. Why he hadn't had a vision about all of this -- didn't the Powers think that the fact their great warrior was about to turn into a homicidal maniac was something they should probably know?

"It won't come to that," Doyle told Wesley, "You said you thought there might be something we could do."

Wesley nodded. "Yes, I believe there is. But as I said, the cure will be very dangerous, and requires magickians of some skill," he replied.

Doyle got up, gently bringing Cordelia with him, and moved toward the front door.

"Then we're wasting time," he said.

************************************************

Oz was driving WAY too fast. Willow pictured the car careening off the road at any second, and all of them ending up dead in a ditch, completely useless to help anyone. And from what Old Emma was explaining to them from the back seat, that would mean that all of their friends wouldn't be far behind.

She looked over at Oz, whose face was set in furious determination, and wondered where all this public emoting was suddenly coming from. Of course, all these months of soul-searching and learning magick up here in the mountains must have changed him...

Willow tore her eyes away. ((Don't look at him! Now's not the time. And besides, Oz lost his chance. You have Tara now. ))

But for how long? How long did any of them have to do anything?

************************************************

"Nothin'!" Xander lamented, collapsing on the couch. It was long after dawn, and he'd searched every cemetery, sewer, and mausoleum in the city limits, looking for Buffy.

Tara and Anya slept peacefully on the couch, but Giles still sat at the dining room table, surrounded by books and scrolls, and sucking down his 10th cup of disgusting American coffee. "Maxwell House?" They might as well call it "Maxwell's Powdered Corpse". He barely looked up at the boy's arrival and announcement.

"And she's not at Angel's..." he ventured.

"Nope. Looked there, twice."

"The dorm?" Giles asked, still not looking up.

"Nothing. No Willow, either," Xander said sadly, "Also nothing at either of their mom's, and Riley hung up on me when I asked if he'd seen her. After he finished telling me what he thought of me... and her..."

Giles ran his fingers through what little currently remained of his hair and looked up at last, "I've also tried contacting Cordelia in Los Angeles again, but there's no answer either at the office or her home. And Angel's cell phone still indicates that he is out of range."

"That's because he's out in the woods somewhere, turning into an evil, blood-thirsty monster," the office manager in question said as she walked in, with Doyle and Wesley in tow.

"WESLEY?!" Xander and Giles exclaimed simultaneously.

"Yes, yes, it's me. Why does everyone seem so surprised? I didn't drop off the face of the Earth, for God's sake!" he whined, setting his box of book and tools on the floor next to Giles. Doyle deposited another one on top of it, then walked back to Cordelia and put his arm around her, surveying the scene.

"So, this is Scooby Central, eh?" he said.

"Who the Hell are you?" Xander snapped at him, surprised that he was immediately a little jealous of the way the blue-eyed man had his arm around Cordy.

She felt like she'd walked straight into the "Twilight Zone". She watched in shocked horror as Xander and Doyle measured one another up, and noticed, to her great chagrin, that they were wearing the same tacky pants.

Yup. Twilight Zone. In Hell.

"I'm Doyle," he said, "And you might be..."

"I might be Xander," Xander spat, and stomped away.

Doyle turned and winked at Cordy, "I thought you were exaggeratin' when you said the boy was rude..."

Cordelia shook her head sadly, "And I wasn't kidding about the fashion sense, either."

Anya woke and sat up, disturbed by all the noise, and looked around with sleepy eyes, "What's going on? Is Angelus here?"

No one really noticed her. Giles was busy glaring at Wesley.

"Not that I don't appreciate you filling my house with useless junk, but what the Hell are you doing here, Pryce? I don't recall asking for the Council's assistance," he snapped.

"Ah, Mr. Giles. I assure you, it's a great pleasure to see you again, as well," Wesley hissed sarcastically, "And the Council would not come to your aid at your request if the fate of the world depended on it."

"Which it currently does," Giles shot back.

Cordelia got between them, "Um... can we save the Stuffy British Fish Slap Macho Man Contest for after Armageddon?" she looked at Giles, "Wesley knows how to help Angel. He knows what's going on with this whole Prophecy thing."

The front door swung open once again, admitting Willow and Oz, each on one side of a stooped and grizzled old woman in flowing gypsy garb.

"So do we," said Willow, "This is Old Emma. She's the one that gave Oz the prophecy."

************************************************

Buffy sipped half-heartedly at her coffee. She'd been out all night, scouring the underbelly of Sunnydale for distractions. She'd found plenty, and now she was completely beat, but still so wired up she knew there was no way she was going to sleep. So now, she was just out walking in the warm morning sunshine. Or rather, now she was just drinking coffee in the warm morning sunshine.

Angel was probably asleep by now, tucked up alone in his bed, maybe thinking of her. Or maybe off somewhere, brooding about this stupid prophecy, or lamenting their fight...

Or maybe, like her, he was just plowing through Los Angeles, keeping busy by kicking major amounts of demon ass with whatever weapon was handy, just to blow off steam.

Having thought about it all night in spite of herself, Buffy now was gaining some understanding of what might be wrong with her Angel.

Fear. He had to be afraid of how well things were going between them, how easily they had fallen into a pattern that so closely resembled their longed-for normalcy, it must be utterly foreign to his long-tortured heart and soul. Angel always had to live in shame, carrying his own burdens and those of so many others, without help, or escape, or any relief at all. Of course he would be terrified that things were going just too well. He was just waiting for the other shoe to drop and squash their happiness like a bug.

Buffy had to admit, some part of her was, too. She had never been so happy in her life than she had been in the past three months. Ever since that day that Willow's wild magick had just materialized her in Angel's office, her life had more or less been showering rose petals and sunshine on her. She had everything she ever wanted.

What was the catch?

She sighed. She should probably be really pissed at Angel for being such a dick the other night, but how could she? She had pressured him into doing something that he wasn't really comfortable with... scratch that -- that he hated. Something that reminded him of all the things he despised about himself. And instead of trying to understand, once again, Buffy had dismissed his fears because of what she wanted. Angel would never do that to her.

He was right: she never stopped to think how he might feel before she did things.

Well, that was going to change, right now. She would go home and catch a few hours of shut eye, take another shower, engage in some Grand Theft Auto with her mom's car, and drive out to LA to see him. She could be there before sunset.

Her mind made up, and a new smile on her face, Buffy paid her tab and headed back to the mansion.

************************************************

Spike really hated it when other vamps tried to squat in his crypt. Just because he hadn't gotten around to fixing the door, didn't indicate an invitation to all and sundry to come duck in out of the rays.

He sighed deeply and got up. He really dug this two-room deal. Living among the damned Scooby Gang had spoiled him. He, unlike Angel, was usually perfectly happy with any old slab that kept the sun off his head. At least, he had been.

Now he found himself missing television and electricity, and even those stupid, sappy coffee mugs to drink his blood out of. But, alas, the joy of being away from those plonkers more than made up for any lack of creature comforts.

Time enough for that, later. Right now, there was a youngster in his sitting room just begging for a very violent etiquette lesson.

"Alright," he began, "This isn't a Motel Six, you know. Someone lives here..."

Spike froze in his tracks when he saw Angel sitting on the ratty old recliner he had dragged in the other night. His sire kicked back lazily, his muddy boots on the nearby crypt.

"Mornin', Sleepyhead," he drawled, grinning broadly.

Spike scowled, "What the Hell do you want, you bleedin' puffer?"

Angel slowly eased out of the chair and walked toward him. "Aw, now, come on, Spikey. Is that any way to greet your long lost sire?"

"Fuck off," Spike spat.

Angel wandered across the room, running his fingers along the scalloped edges of the mausoleum walls. He shook his head sadly and tsked, brushing the grime from his fingers.

"You always were a filthy slob, Spike."

Spike continued to glare at him. Just what the Hell was this, now?

"Didn't I just tell you to fuck off?" he repeated.

Angel's smile broadened. "Spike, my boy, you really need to work on your manners." He considered the blonde carefully for a few moments. "Don't tell me you're still sore about that Drusilla thing. She was a flake! Never gave a shit for you, anyway," he leaned over, getting in Spike's face and leering down at him, his voice colored by his long-dead brogue, "Doncha know the wee lass had a yen fer her dear ole Da?"

Spike took a swing at him, but Angel easily stopped it, and chuckled.

"Hold your little bitch slaps," he hissed, "I'm here to do you a favor."

Spike yanked out of his sire's grip.

"A favor. What, you're finally gonna off yourself?" he snorted.

Angel pulled a pack of Camel straights out of his coat and lit one up, dragging deeply, then executed a number of perfect smoke rings as he exhaled.

Spike froze at the sight. But not enough to refuse one of the smokes Angel... rather, Angelus... offered.

Now *this* was an interesting development.

"Hardly, my dear boy," his sire continued, "I'm actually enjoying unlife for a change." He leaned easily against the nearest pillar, "But, I think you might want to give some consideration to relocating."

Spike cocked an eyebrow at him. My, how that swaggering bastard loved to hear himself talk. "Oh really."

Angelus nodded sagely.

"And why, may I ask, is that?" Spike asked him.

Angelus stood once again, and slowly paced the room. "Well," he began, grinding out his cigarette on the floor, "As I understand, you've been a really big help to the Slayer and her little gaggle of goody goodies. And... thing is, I've taken a solemn vow to rend each one of them limb from limb -- after the requisite hours of horrible torture, of course -- and then drink whatever blood might be left. Frankly, I'm not fond of vampire blood. So! For old times' sake, and because I really don't want to have to be bothered with you, I'm merely suggesting that you divest yourself of your new friends, and head for the border." He stopped, having once again reached the spot where Spike stood, glaring at him. "I hear Brazil is lovely this time of year."

Spike's head spun. He really couldn't help but be a little shocked at his wayward sire's sudden reappearance. "What the Hell happened to you? I thought you were all bound up or whatever. You've been shagging that Slayer for months now! Did your little gypsy curse thing finally just break down? One bonk too many? She must be good..."

That hit home. Angelus' smile faded, but immediately reappeared.

"Werewolves, actually. Smelly creatures, but... interesting magick. Plus a few other... mitigating factors..." he replied, cheerfully recalling the taste of the Slayer's blood in his mouth.

Spike just stared at him.

"So, whatdya say, Spikey? Since you're more or less Viagra Boy when it comes to hunting, you won't be much help to your little gang anyway, so why don't you just make yourself scarce?"

The blonde vampire stood eye to eye with him, considering his options. Which, as it turned out, were really "none", at the moment. So he shrugged, turned, and bolted for the underground exit, leaving the laughter of his psychopathic sire echoing behind him.

*************************************************

Old Emma very much liked Daniel's friends. They sat around her in a half-circle, as thought they were children, and she was telling them a story. Which, in a way, she was. So many young, strong, burning energies in the room... the young Wiccans and the former and half demons... the beauty queen, the sharp-tongued boy, and two cocky Englishmen. Delightful. No wonder Daniel missed them so much.

Giles looked down at the letter in his hand once again. Angel's usually neat, careful script was ragged and erratic, and obviously hurriedly written. It was hard to read, but he thought he had managed to decipher most of it.

"Angel indicates that the magicks your people use to control the change have had some dampening effect on the bindings of his soul," he paraphrased for the old woman. He didn't need to read the rest to her -- the long string of barely intelligible apologies, or the paragraphs begging Giles to kill him -- for Buffy's sake, if nothing else.

Or his closing: "I trust that you will do what has to be done, if no one else will. Please, take care of her. You have no reason to help me, but I beg you... watch out for her. Keep her safe."

Old Emma nodded, "That is part of it. The spells we use are ancient. They were thought long lost until I stumbled upon them several decades ago... They alter the physical and spiritual realities of the body, adjusting its reactions to disease and change on the deeper levels," she explained.

"And you never bothered to check how that might effect other creatures?" Wesley accused her.

The old woman lay her black eyes on him, "Why would we, Watcher? What do we care for soulless demons?"

"Angel is not soulless!" Cordelia barked.

Emma turned to look at her, "No, young one. He is not." She looked at the many worried faces around her, "I was there the day the curse was laid upon Angelus... you see, my people have been hunted by the Nosferatu since the beginning of time. We are... outsiders, in human culture, with no one to pay us any mind if our numbers were decimated. We were among the unwanted on which demons so love to prey. Angelus nearly wiped out my village...killed many of my people. I was only a small child... I hadn't even become what I am today, yet. To be honest, I hadn't given the matter much thought, since the day they drove that poor creature into the woods, his tortured soul his only company..." her voice trailed off, and she stared into space.

"Grandmother," Oz said from beside her, gently laying his hand on her arm, "We don't have much time..."

She smiled warmly up at him, "Yes, of course. Forgive an old woman for so easily drifting into the past."

Anya sat forward, "No offense, ma'am, but none of this is really very helpful."

"Yes," Giles agreed, "What we need to know is how to reverse this. How to stop him."

"Short of killing him," Doyle added.

Emma gave them all a broad smile. "He is a blessed soul, I think, to have so many who care for him," she said, "This turn of events is not as it appears. Angelus has not been separated from his soul. He is as you have always known him, but the magicks he has been exposed to: Daniel's burgeoning charms, the blood of the Slayer, and finally, the many webs woven about my home... in addition to the particularly unfortunate circumstance of the Blood Moon, have thrown the balance of power within him off its axis."

"The demon has regained control over the body," Wesley mused aloud.

The crone nodded. "His soul still resides within, but the strength of the magick that has overwhelmed him has rendered his will powerless. Only base instinct remains."

"Which equals Angelus. Great," Cordelia said.

"All is not lost," Wesley cut in, turning to Emma, "If I am not mistaken, the effects can be reversed, can they not?"

She nodded, "Yes. There are a number of ways in which to do this -- all of them are dangerous, and they will require great sacrifice from all of you. Most notably, from the vampire's lover..."

************************************************

Buffy woke to the soft, cool touch of Angel's lips on her neck. She smiled without opening her eyes.

((Good thing I waited to go see him.))

"I knew you'd come back," she said softly.

"Did you, now..." Angelus purred into her ear, pressing his lips to its delicate lobe.

She sighed. "Mhmm. I knew you couldn't stay mad at me for long."

He lay down beside her and stretched out his body. He could take her, right now. Kill her or fuck her or whatever he wanted to do, and she would probably let him. And like it. But... what fun would that be?

"No. I couldn't," he agreed, and let his hands slide around her, and over her bare breasts. The Slayer moaned softly, snuggling back against his body. The phone interrupted the potentially electric reunion moment, and she groaned in objection.

"I'd better get that. It could be Giles," she said, reaching over to the nightstand, "Hold that thought."

Angelus let her pull away and sat back to watch.

((Damn. I was hoping for a little action before the... action.))

He folded his arms behind his head, and settled back onto the pillows.

"Hello?" Buffy said into the receiver.

"Buffy, thank god!" Giles said, doing his level best not to shout, "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you all night! Have you spoken to Angel?"

"I was out patrolling. And yes, he's right here," she replied.

Angelus grinned.

((Here it comes...))

Giles' voice dropped to barely above a whisper, "Buffy, you must listen to me very carefully. Do not respond in any way to what I'm about to tell you. Do not let him know. Do not even change your facial expression. Do you understand?"

"Uh huh," Buffy lied, following his directions.

"That is not Angel. The magick Oz's people practice has loosened his control on the demon," Giles went on.

Buffy tensed, but tried not to tense. Angelus could immediately smell the fear in her blood.

"His soul is not gone. You mustn't kill him. But get out of there, immediately, and come to my house. We can help him, but Buffy... you cannot stay there! In his current condition, Angel will surely attempt to kill you. Now respond as if some normal conversation were going on."

"Uh huh. Okay. I gotcha," she said, so shocked, she was lucky she could remember to speak English at all.

"Good. Now get here as quickly as you can, and try not to arouse his suspicions," Giles concluded.

"Right. I'll be over in a few minutes," Buffy told him.

"Buffy... please be careful," he said, and hung up.

She put the phone back in its cradle. It took all of her will and training to keep her face and posture relaxed as she turned over. Angelus just lay there, smiling at her.

Buffy wanted to scream. She wanted to punch the bastard square in her lover's face. She wanted to rip him apart, until she found her Angel trapped inside.

"I have to go," she said evenly, and got up.

Angelus watched her hot little body move as she dressed.

((Keep it up. Any monkey can pretend to be that loser. Just try to look guilty.))

"But I just got here," he whined, trying to sound sensitive and soul-y, "Don't we have some making up to do?"

He definitely saw disgust and rage flash briefly across her pretty features. But as soon as he noticed it, it was gone, replaced by a reasonable facsimile of a warm smile.

"We do," she said, "But Giles needs me now. I'll only be gone for a little while. You should sleep. You must be tired." Buffy struggled to find normal things that she might say to Angel, but it was hard, when she loved him, and loathed this beast.

He pouted. "But... I missed you," he said.

Buffy said nothing as she pulled on her shoes and headed for the door. The cold edge of his voice made her skin crawl.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking back at him, "I promise, I'll come right back. Just... wait for me here, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, and watched her leave. So now all there was to do was wait and plan. She would, without a doubt, be back.

************************************************

The group had broken up into small cliques, each with some task to perform to prepare for the ritual to come. Giles and Wesley conferred with Emma; Xander, Anya, and Oz ground herbs; Cordelia and Doyle checked weapons and sharpened stakes. Tara and Willow sat off to one side, reviewing the ritual Emma had asked they find for her.

Willow looked up from her book, "I haven't told you how sorry I am," she said, "For all of this... for what I said the other night..."

Tara gave her a small smile. "It's okay. I understand." She looked over at Oz, who was concentrating intently on breaking up a ginger root, "He's cute," she observed.

Willow looked at him, feeling a little tug in her heart, "Yeah, he is," she agreed, then turned back to Tara again, "But so are you."

Tara just smiled at her.

Cordelia threw down her forty-millionth sharpened stake.

"Look at my hands!" she whined, "My manicure is ruined... again! No wonder I didn't get the Palmolive spot!"

Doyle took the offending limb and held it to his lips, looking into her eyes, "Your hands are perfect, Princess. You can dip them in my Palmolive any day."

Cordy grinned and whacked him half-heartedly. She was so glad she had Doyle to lean on. Just knowing they could -- and were -- doing something to help Angel, made her feel better. They would save them if it killed every last one of them. Except her... and Doyle... okay, so maybe none of them should have to die.

Xander looked up from his pestle of stinky herbs at Tara and Willow, smiling at each other on the other side of the room, then he turned back to Oz.

"So. Unexpected reunion, huh?" he said lightly.

Oz smiled evenly, "Yeah. And not entirely pleasant," he said.

"Did you know your girlfriend was a lesbian?" Anya asked the redhead.

Before any of them could respond, the basement door burst open, and Spike came barreling inside, standing in the middle of the room, panting.

"Ang... Ang... ANGELUS!" he sputtered, "He's HERE. He's coming to KILL YOU ALL!!!"

Everyone looked at him.

"Yes, thank you, Spike," Giles said, turning immediately back to the scroll in front of him. The others also returned to their work.

"Didn't any of you gormless prats hear what I just said????" he screeched.

Cordelia walked up to him and handed over a pile of stakes. "Yes, we heard you. Now make yourself useful. And try not to fall on one. Unless you really feel like you need to."

Spike stared at her, dumbfounded, then slowly examined the others present. The werewolf... when the hell did he get back? Red and her "friend"... both the Slayer's Watchers, Cordelia and her little mick boy-toy... some wrinkly old hag that smelled like frankincense...

"What the Hell is this?" he bellowed.


	7. Sweetest Misery

Buffy couldn't possibly run any faster. She had already developed a stitch in her side that made her wonder how and when she'd managed to get so out of shape.

Her skin was still crawling from the memory of that bastard's hands and lips on her. What if Giles hadn't called when he did? What if she had let him... what if they'd...

She shook the thought away. They hadn't. The only thing that was important now was getting Angel back, whatever the cost. She absolutely refused to consider the growing possibility that she might lose him after all they'd gone through to be together...

What happened to him? Giles said Angel hadn't lost his soul, so why was he suddenly his evil twin again? And why hadn't he just killed her as she slept?

Not sporting enough, obviously. No doubt he had other, more psychotic plans.

Suddenly, she remembered Angel's letter from a few weeks before. What had he said about the demon? That even thought it was soulless, and couldn't truly love her, he had said that it was obsessed with possessing her. It couldn't kill her because it wanted her for its own.

Buffy forced another burst of speed as she saw Giles' apartment complex appear over the hill. This was something they'd be able to use, she just knew it.

It had to be. The alternative was unthinkable.

*********************************************

"Thanks!" Willow called to the shopkeeper as she exited, her arms full of bags.

Oz and Tara sat on the bench outside, laughing at something as she approached.

"Hey, you two aren't comparing notes, are you?" she asked, only half-joking.

They looked up at her -- the two sets of eyes whose color she could most perfectly recall in her mind, capturing her in their happy gazes.

"I was explaining the Humus Offensive," Oz told her, rising to help with the bags.

Tara stood also. "We decided it wouldn't be any more effective against Angel than it would have been against the mayor."

"Angelus," Willow corrected her as the threesome fell into an easy step together.

"Right, sorry."

"We have to meet Anya and Xander at the library, then I have to get back to Emma," Oz reminded them.

"Oh! That's right!" Willow yelped, "What are we going to do? Tonight's the first night of the full moon!"

"No worries," Oz assured her, "I've got first night control down. It's tomorrow when we do the ritual that I'm worried about. I haven't been able to control the change on the full, full moon."

Tara looked at him sympathetically, "But Old Emma said you were ready."

Oz nodded, "With her here, maybe."

"We'll just have to trust her and hope for the best," Willow said. The idea of having to deal with a wild werewolf *and* Angelus was just too much.

The trio walked on in silence, lost in their worries.

*********************************************

"No. Absolutely NO BLOODY WAY!" Spike swore angrily.

"Spike, you have to. There's no other choice," Cordelia pleaded with him.

"I don't *have* to do anything but *stay dead*!" he snapped. The blond vampire got to his feet. "Are the whole lot of you off your rockers? If you'll remember correctly, my plonking sire threatened my life right along with all of yours! You really think he's going to be thrilled at the idea of "hanging out" for a couple of days? Come on! And besides, what the Hell do we have to talk about? I can't even hunt anymore!"

"Take 'im to a pub. Start a fight," Doyle suggested.

"Oh, right. That'll kill about five minutes. And what do I want to have that bloody poof back for, anyway?" he whined.

"Spike... Angel is our friend," Cordelia reminded him.

Spike rolled his eyes and gave a derisive snort. "Please."

"Aside from that," Wesley added, "You are also on Angelus' menu, as you so eloquently put it. If you can distract him until the full moon tomorrow night, and we can perform our ritual, it most certainly will save your skin, as well."

"Why don't you get the Slayer to distract him? I'm thinking the two of them would have a far easier time killing a day or two. And isn't it her job?" Spike continued to complain. He was hating this gig more every minute.

"It's also her job to dust you," Xander reminded him.

Spike glared at the boy.

"We will need Buffy at full strength when she confronts Angelus after the ritual," Giles added.

Buffy finally looked up from her moping place in the window seat.

"Spike, will you just do it already?" she snapped, "Just keep an eye on him until tomorrow night. Otherwise, I *will* start doing my job -- impotent chiphead or no!"

Her threat made Spike cringe in spite of himself. A pissed off, worried Slayer was a very dangerous Slayer, in his book.

Spike sighed and sunk back into his chair. "Fine," he capitulated, "What do you want me to do?"

*********************************************

Angelus flipped through his alter ego's CD collection. What was all this crap? Beethoven, Pavarotti, Madame Butterfly? BLECH! There wasn't a single thing there that a demon could kill to... or screw to, for that matter. But hey, if all else failed, the magick of human screaming filling the air was all he really needed for atmosphere.

He picked up a picture of himself and the Slayer from the mantel. He could feel the Soul raging deep inside him at the idea of his hands touching her when itwasn't in control of them.

Not that that the loser could do anything about it. Until the Gypsy Hag and the Slayer's little crew got their magickal act together, he was at the wheel. And he fully intended on having them all for dinner before they could finish the first "so mote it be". Except the Slayer, of course.

He gazed at the picture again. They made a nice pair. Buffy was one fine piece of human flesh, to be sure, but she'd make an even better vampire. With those sweet eyes and that innocent way about her? Plus her nearly unbeatable fighting skills? She' put good ole Darla to shame in a second. He could hardly wait.

The Soul made its presence known with a high-pitched whine in his brain.

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to fantasize," Angelus said out loud.

The whining didn't stop, but it wasn't all that different from the screaming of ghosts he heard all the time, so he just tuned it out. He walked slowly around the mansion, examining the Soul's things. What a boring fucker he was. So stereotypical: sensitive, brooding, culture-guy. What a waste of a hundred years! Moping, crying, collecting all this human garbage. How many new ways to hunt, maim and kill had passed them by because of his idiot conscience? It was a damn shame, in his estimation. Being evil was a whole HELL of a lot more fun.

But boy, did he plan on making up for it. He could hardly contain himself, or decide what (or who) to do first. The possibilities for fun were simply mind-boggling.

He quickly ran through his mental roll of the Slayer's little family.

Giles. He'd do him last -- make him watch Angelus turn his precious little protégé. Ooh! Or, even better, let Buffy kill him. Yeah, yeah, that was it!

And what about that cute little Witch? Willow... He liked redheads. Not as much as blondes, of course, but the added yum of magick in the blood would make her that much sweeter. Plus, no doubt, she would whimper and cry and beg, which was also a lot of fun.

Xander. He hated that rotten little geek as much as the Soul did. Years of insults, low blows, and general taunting flashed through his memory. He'd enjoy making the fucker watch the redhead die painfully. Then, he'd slowly tear him apart piece by piece, recounting the many ways his beloved Slayer felt and tasted as he went.

Then there was Cordelia and the Brachen demon, Doyle. It'd take some thought to conjure up something extra special for them, for their kindness to the Soul. Hmmm... something out of the ordinary... a little extra painful and bloody... and personal. He'd have to toss that one around for a bit longer. One of the classics would no doubt be appropriate. Being locked in a box with live, starving rats, maybe...

So many to torture! So little time!

He picked up one of Buffy's discarded blouses from the back of the couch. It was dirty, and positively stank of her sweet scent -- she'd probably been fighting in it. Angelus held the thin cotton to his nose and inhaled her aroma deep into himself.

"I've got to give you credit, you simpy fuck. You've got fine taste in women," he said to the Soul, "She smells delicious."

It howled louder in response. Angelus laughed -- here was a fun little game he could play while he bided his time until the Slayer came back. He leaned back in what was, no doubt, the Soul's easy chair, and undid his belt buckle. Still holding the Slayer's blouse in one hand, he slid his already hard cock out of his leather pants with the other and started rifling through his memories -- and the Soul's -- of the fiery little blonde.

He found the perfect thing. Although he personally couldn't stand all the romantic, sappy bullshit the Soul so loved to shower on her, he knew there was memory moe tender than the first time the pathetic fucker did her. The time when he'd been wanting to share his looooove with her, but instead had only loosed Angelus himself on the world once again. Dumb bastard.

Stroking his erection slowly, he let himself drift back into the memories. Past all the mush and the tears and the Soul's reluctance and such, and straight to the flesh.

Buffy had pushed him back onto the bed, her hot little mouth sealed firmly over his lips, her tongue sweeping deep inside, between his teeth, teasing his tongue. He'd been unable to resist any further, and let himself go, his body near sensory overload from the first intimate contact it had experienced in almost a century.

She was desperate and eager -- not a bad little lover, for a virgin. No doubt she had long been an expert on "everything but", as so many virtuous young girls were. She was in a hot rush, devouring every inch of him she could reach with her strong little hands and her steaming mouth... And when she ran out of available flesh, she started removing the barriers to more, not hesitating to peel away his soaking sweater and dive down to the skin of his chest and stomach.

Angel groaned senselessly beneath her, hardly able to control the boiling in his blood as she undid his slacks and reached her hand inside, stroking his hard cock hesitantly, but firmly. He reached down and guided her, using his free hand to caress her damp, firm back as he rained kisses on her face, her neck, and her tender throat.

Angelus remembered clearly the sensation of her pert breasts crushed against him, allowing her strong heartbeat to echo in his silent chest. The smell of her blood... next to sheer terror, the scent of arousal in the veins was the best. Angelus had often enjoyed getting his victims all riled up -- sometimes even bringing them to orgasm before he ripped their throats out. Sex in the blood was like a good bottle of champagne.

Angel had turned the Slayer gently over and peeled off her tights, taking his time, trying not to frighten or hurt her. (Angelus thought of a billion things he would have rather been doing at that moment, and inserted them into the fantasy instead of all the ridiculous tenderness.) He'd touched her and tasted her, long and slow... the combined scents of sweat and tears and rain making her skin twice as salty... and twice as sweet. (Plus, there was the fear, which the idiot Soul ignored, but which made Angelus himself pulse in his own hand.)

He increased his pace and firmed his grip, relishing the Soul's tormented screaming as much as the memory of the Slayer's virgin moans... her tentative attempts to draw him closer... his resistance, wanting to savor her every taste... to fully experience and memorize this moment, which would never come again.

Angel had eaten her for at least half an hour, plunging his face deep in her hot pussy, smothering himself in her juices until she positively howled with pleasure and begged him to take her. And he had, with an aching tenderness that made her shudder from head to foot as her body at first resisted, then gave way, finally allowing him access to her deepest secrets.

Angelus could remember in vivid detail, as the Soul did, how her body felt against him... clutching around him... strong, young, so alive. Tight and soft and painfully hot... he could remember the sensation of moving slowly in and out of her after a long, searing pause when he had just looked into her eyes.

By the time he reached that part of the memory where Buffy called out to her God, then to him, and then to her God again, Angelus felt his own orgasm overtake him. He shouted her name to the empty room, recalling the sound of her pleasured cries as his seed spurt from him, shooting over his hand and onto the chair.

But thankfully, not on the Leathers.

When he finished, he wiped himself with the Slayer's blouse and then tossed it absently away to the floor. He redid his pants and relaxed back into the chair, reaching in to his coat for a cigarette and lighting it up.

As he drew in the smoke and let it linger in his still lungs, he noticed for the first time that the Soul was finally silent. He could feel its jealous rage and pain... its frustration and helplessness, but it no longer made a sound.

Oh yeah... coming back to SunnyHell had definitely been the perfect idea. Angelus gave himself a good, long pat on the back, and went on considering his many torture options.

*********************************************

Buffy left the group to their preparations, and went to sit by herself on Giles' front step. It was a beautiful night; a shining, bright night, lit by billions of twinkling stars and an almost perfectly round, red full moon.

A cursed Blood Moon.

She should have known better. She should have seen all of this coming. But she'd been so focused on sucking all of the joy into her that she possibly could, she'd quickly dismissed any signs that everything wasn't perfect with her and Angel.

Her blood. Old Emma told them her blood was the catalyst for Angel's change; that its power had strengthened the demon, allowing it to break his soul's control at the exact time that the Were-peoples' magick had weakened his will.

Buffy was too empty to cry. It just figured -- everything she touched eventually turned to shit: her life, her friends' lives... Angel...

Hopelessness began to settle over her like a raging storm cloud. It was true, what Angel had told her years ago: no good could possibly come from their defying fate and trying to be together.

But she could picture his special smile so clearly... could remember in heart wrenching detail how happy he was when they were together. How could that be wrong? How could their love be a sin, when the two of them together created such beauty, such joy? Didn't the world need more, and not less of that?

She kept forgetting -- sometimes on purpose -- that she and Angel weren't just Some Girl and Some Guy. They were warriors -- supernatural freaks dragged along by destiny, tossed hither and yon by fate, utterly unable to live anything even closely resembling a normal life. Hadn't Angel told her that very thing, time and again? What had he said that day he'd sacrificed his chance at humanity? That they didn't belong to themselves... they belonged to the world they were chosen to defend. That if the cost of their being together was either of their lives, or anyone else's, then it was too much.

Releasing Angelus on the world once more was worse even, than that. Her love for Angel had once again created an unimaginable evil. It was her duty... her Sacred Duty... both to humanity and to the man she loved so much, to do what had to be done. Again.

Cold certainty and resolution settled over her, and she could feel her heart go dead in her chest. She looked at his letter again:

"Buffy,

I don't have much time. I hope you get this before...

It doesn't matter. All I wanted to tell you... God, there's so much... But I can feel him, coming closer, so I can only say this:

I love you, Buffy. I love you so much, so deeply, so completely. I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you. I'm so sorry I yelled at you the other night. If only I had known... Please believe that the only joy, the only beauty, the only happiness I have ever known has been because of your presence in my life. Even when we were apart, knowing that you existed, and that you once loved me, was enough to keep me living... keep me fighting.

Please don't blame yourself for what's happened. It's not your doing. It's my curse. My disease. My fault.

When it comes to it, my love, if you care about me as much as I hope you do, don't hesitate. Don't think twice. Just do, as you always have, what needs to be done.

I trust you. I'll miss you, and I'll love you,

Always... Angel."

The first time Buffy read it, it made her break down. And the second... the fifth... the twentieth...

But now, there were no more tears. There was no other way around it. Nothing to do but let him go, once and for all. This time, she didn't cry. Angel was dead, and she had died with him. All that remained were the details.

She listened to the droning hum of the chanting from inside the apartment. Everyone in there -- almost everyone in the world that she loved -- was putting their life on the line because they believed in Angel... they believed firmly in his worth, his value, his importance to the world, and to her. The old gypsy told them that he was savable, and they all believed her.

Buffy didn't. Maybe she should, but she didn't. Her belief in magick had flown with the soul of her one true love.

*********************************************

Spike grumbled to himself as he approached the mansion.

What the Hell was he doing here? If he had such a bloody big death wish, why didn't he just go sit in the park and wait for sunrise? Spontaneous combustion would undoubtedly be far less painful than anything Angelus would do to him when he showed up on his doorstep.

Why did he continually bust his immortal ass to help that bitch, the Slayer, and all her bloody idiot do-gooder friends? It wasn't like he gave half a shit about them. In fact, he'd just as soon eat them as spit on them. And they'd never been particularly fond of him, either. He was just another foot soldier in their pathetic little army, and only a reluctant one, at that...

His musings were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass from inside the mansion.

((Too late to turn back now, Spike, you moron...))

He walked through the front door and barely ducked in time to avoid being slammed in the face by a vase that screamed through the air and smashed against the wall behind him.

"Steeeeeerike two!" his Sire shouted.

Spike looked around. The floor was littered with broken glass, burned paper, torn clothing, and tons of other barely identifiable junk.

"What the Hell is this, now?" he asked, more to himself than anything.

"Well, well! Spike!" Angelus crowed, setting down the lamp that was his next intended victim, and approached his childe, "I thought you at least be in Mexico by now. Never have gotten any smarter, have you, boy?"

Spike immediately launched into his carefully memorized speech. "You don't scare me," he began, walking toward his sire, who stood in the middle of the ruins of his alter ego's living room, "And besides. If you've got plans for the Slayer and her mates, I want in. I owe them."

It wasn't far from the truth... not that he gave a flying fuck about the truth, either. Even if he couldn't torture the blasted Slayerettes, due to the unfortunate fact that they were all alive, maybe he'd get a chance to do Angelus some damage. Payback for... well, too many things to count.

That was almost better.

Angelus clasped his hands behind his back and furrowed his brow as if considering Spike's offer. Kicking garbage about as he went, he paced the room, stopping when he was a few feet away.

"Hm. Interesting," he said, "But... I have to wonder... what good can you really do me? You can't hunt... can't fight... can't even throw a punch. So, explain -- and quickly -- what use could you possibly be?"

Spike lit up a smoke and casually took a seat on the nearest piece of furniture that wasn't now fit for firewood. He looked up at Angelus.

"They trust me. Sort of..." he began, exhaling, "I can spy for you. Or set them up with some story about some innocent soul that needs rescuing or something."

Angelus looked at him gravely for a moment. Then, his face split into a vicious smile that gave even Spike the creeps, "Okay. But you have to get your own meals. I've got no time to bother with spoon-feeding the handicapped."

Spike nodded, letting the low blow go by, "Deal," he said, "So when do we start? Maybe you could leave me a dead hero or two to munch on."

Angelus shrugged and reclaimed the lamp once more.

"Tomorrow, sunset. I've got lots of fun games planned for everyone." He let the lamp fly, and it shattered against the fireplace.

"What's with all the property damage? You never been a wanton destruction sort of bloke -- unless there was the possibility of suffering and bloodshed, of course..."

Angelus picked up another statue from the pile behind him.

"I was bored," he said, "Besides, He doesn't like it."

Spike rolled his eyes. ((Nutter's crazier than Dru...))

"So what's the evil plan, Dr. Evil?" he asked.

Angelus shot the statue across the room, giving a satisfied smirk at the sound it made as it disintegrated. "Well, I thought I'd start with a card... maybe chocolates... flowers?" he gave Spike a look, "I corner them, capture them, mockthem relentlessly, torture them mercilessly, then eat them. What else?"

Spike shrugged, "I dunno. Lacks poetry, if you ask me."

Angelus laughed and sat down on the couch, "Get your own writer. And what do you know about poetry, anyway? You're most clever kill was that time in London when you talked that kid into the alley by saying you found his puppy."

Spike resisted the urge to tell him off. He was a demon on a mission. He had to stick to the plan if he didn't want to end up a little pile of dust under the Slayers' dainty shoes. Or worse, a living corpse with no arms or legs to speak of, a trick that he knew was one of Angelus' favorites.

"Maybe so," he said coolly, "But these folks are special."

Angelus grinned. "Is that smoke I smell coming from your little pea brain? Don't tell me you have a plan..."

Spike shrugged, "I might. I've had a bit of time to think about it... Hard."

His sire leaned closer. "Don't be stingy. Tell Uncle Angelus what you had in mind."

Spike looked the bugger straight in the eye. "I'd feel a Hell of a lot more like sharing with a few cold ones in my gut," he said.

Angelus nodded. "Fair enough." He got up and looked around the ruins of his former home. "This place is a dump, anyway."

*********************************************

Old Emma looked around the Watcher's living room. Each piece of furniture and most of the floor was occupied by one of Daniel's sleeping friends. But they were split into small, tightly knit sub-groups, each cut off from the others by some old pain or resentment, which blocked them from being the effective magickal conduit they would need to be for the spell to succeed.

When the children woke, that would be the first thing they would have to remedy.

The Slayer appeared in the doorway of the guestroom, dressed in black and carrying an enormous broadsword that very well might have outweighed her. She was obviously at the tail end of a sleepless night, and so lost in her own concerns that she walked right past Emma's perch without a second look.

"What draws you into the dawn, young warrior?" she asked the girl softly.

Buffy jumped and spun to face her, immediately and automatically falling into a battle stance. Even mourning couldn't dampen this fighter's training and instincts, Emma realized. Perhaps that was how she had lived so long, when many others in her position had found their tragic end within weeks of their Calling.

"I'm going bowling," the little blonde snapped as she relaxed and let the sword fall to her side again.

Emma grinned. How much she liked this spitfire of a girl. And how little she envied her.

"I see. Well, watch out for that 7-10 split," she drawled.

The Slayer rolled her eyes and resumed her journey to the front door.

"You would give up on him so easily?" Emma called after her.

Buffy stopped in mid-stride and paused for a moment, then turned to look at the old woman once again.

"What do you know about it?" she hissed.

Emma got up from the barstool and shuffled slowly toward her.

"I know that's not a bowling ball," she replied gently, indicating the enormous sword. It hummed with the energy of the vampire she had met back at her home -- the focus of all their recent efforts, "His sword. Ironic," she said.

The Slayer's face, previously cold and resolved, seemed to melt into a frown of unimaginably abject sorrow, and tears began to well in her big hazel eyes. Emma could see her body beginning to sag, her strength quickly seeping out of her as if her stalwart soul had been pierced with a pin.

She crossed the last few feet that separated them and took the girl by the hand, looking deeply into her sad eyes. Widow's eyes, her people called them.

Buffy considered the old crone as though she spoke a foreign language. Old Emma could see that the poor girl was confused -- that she had backed herself so far into the deep tunnel of despair that beckoned her, that she was no longer able to move, or even see, outside of it. The gypsy carefully took the heavy sword from her and set it against the wall, then guided Buffy through the front door, onto the brightly sunlit porch.

She settled her old bones onto the steps, leaving Buffy to stare down at her.

Emma smiled, "Sit, Little Warrior," she said.

The Slayer blinked, then sat beside her on the step. Old Emma reached out and took her hand again, then looked over the waking neighborhood around them. Birds sang and dogs barked, and a warm summer breeze blew softly through the courtyard of the building. The two women sat silently, the elder holding the younger one's hand in her lap.

"There's an old gypsy saying that the Truth is not only not what we think it may be, it is often not what we want," she said after a moment.

Buffy turned and looked at her.

Emma chuckled, "It sounds like so much gibberish to your young ears, I know. It sounds silly even to me, and it was taught as immutable knowledge, when I was growing up."

Silence fell over them once again.

"Why did you stop me?" Buffy asked, looking up at the old woman, "You know what I have to do. You're just postponing the inevitable."

The old were-cat smiled. "Am I?" she turned herself to face the Slayer fully, "Tell me. Do you love Angelus?"

Buffy grimaced and turned away. "No, of course not," she said bitterly.

"Why?"

The girl turned back, a look of incredulous anger and distaste on her face.

"How can you ask me that? Angelus is a monster. A beast straight from Hell," she said.

Emma nodded. "There is a monster within each of us, young Buffy. It is only the good that we carry... or, perhaps in some, it is fear... that separates us from that dark half. Angelus is only different in that his division of self is literal... and magickal. It is this that has tortured him all of these many moons. His turning from human to vampire... his curse, that brought him to be both, and neither. All beyond his control... outside his considerable will. The fine line that we mortals walk? There is no such line, within him. He carries within him two separate beings, each representing one half of that duality. Sometimes, circumstances have favored the good. Sometimes, the bad. Today, it is both."

"I don't understand," Buffy said. All this nonsense was driving her swiftly to tears again. She felt suddenly like she was trying to read with her eyes closed.

"Do you love Angel?" Emma asked her.

The Slayer looked at her with such pain, such loneliness and certainty...

"Yes," she whispered, her tears finally spilling forth, "Of course I do."

"Would you die for him?"

Buffy nodded without hesitation.

Emma took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.

"Together, you are strong. Alone, you are dead," she said.

A ripple of magick stirred the air and filled Buffy with an indescribable feeling of warmth. Of peace and love and joy and comfort, and every beautiful emotion that Angel had ever stirred in her.

Visions of his stunning smile... the deep resonance of his laughter... the gentle touch of his hand washed through her, wiping away any memory of Duty, any desire to fight or to kill, leaving her only with the sensation of him all around her, and in her, filling her utterly.

When the magick dissipated, she looked at Old Emma once more.

"What can I do?" she asked, her voice like that of a very small, very lost child.

"Love him," Emma said simply.

Buffy's brow scrunched in confusion.

"What? But..."

Emma put her hand on the young girl's face.

"You must love him with all of your heart... all of your Self. All of him, even those parts you find horrible or loathsome. My people were very short-sighted in their magick... so blinded by their anger and their desire for revenge that they created a punishment that far outweighed the crime. Hatred built this monster, Buffy. It is only love that can banish it forever."

Buffy tilted her head, letting the words, and the slim bit of hope they carried, settle in her.

"You must forgive him," Emma went on, "You must let go of your fear, your resentment. You must forgive yourself. You must decide which is stronger: your fear, or your love. You must be willing to give all of yourself to what you choose."

"I still don't..." Buffy whispered.

Emma smiled at her and put her arm around the girl's tiny shoulders.

"You will," she promised her, "Your friends will show you. I will help."


	8. Hopeless

"I just... never seen anything like her," Angelus slurred, "Like living sunshine. Something else."

Spike resisted his gag reflex. This was Angelus, Scourge of Europe? No bloody way! His drunken whining was barely any different than the Souled wanker. Bloody Buffy this, effin' Buffy that...

Willy's was cool, dark, and crowded, as it so often was during the hottest part of the day. All manner of demons and other dark-loving creatures sat about, killing time until they could be back on the streets... killing other things.

Spike motioned for Willy to pour them another round. They'd been drinking steadily for almost 12 hours now, and he was getting more than a little tired of his former mentor's twisted company. Not to mention more than a little snookered, which was nothing compared to Angelus' degree of inebriation.

"Yeah. She's something," he replied snidely, "You know, I've thought about taking a shot at that bit of fluff, myself."

Angelus laughed. "She wouldn't touch your skinny ass with... anything," he said.

Spike shot him a dirty look. "Right. But she's over there hanging out with her girlfriends, thinking up new and interesting ways to seduce you."

Angelus emptied his pint, and downed the accompanying shot. "She'd fuck me in a second, soul or no."

"Pul-eeze," Spike said, rolling his eyes.

"Duzzin' matter," Angelus went on, "Don't have to fuck her to turn her."

Spike started. "What? You're going to try and turn the Slayer? Are you insane?" he retorted... far too loudly. Several other patrons of the Alibi Room turned to look at them. He needed to keep his mouth shut. Rumors like that could quickly get messy.

"What did you think I was going to do? Take her out for a night on the town?" his sire went on, "That chip in your head's really dulled your already small intellect, hasn't it, Spike?"

The blond rolled his eyes yet again, cheered only slightly by the appearance of the next round of drinks.

"What time is it?" Angelus asked him.

"It's four oh bloody clock -- 15 minutes since the last time you asked me," Spike replied testily.

Angelus sighed. "This is boring. Let's go do them now."

Spike almost panicked, but managed to think fast. "In the middle of the day? Yeah. Great idea. Then, all they have to do is toss our sorry asses out the front door. No need for messy things like stakes. Fighting day-walkers in the daytime. Bloody brilliant."

Angelus scowled, "Good point. But there's nothing else to do in this shithole."

"My gripe exactly," Spike agreed.

Eight more hours of this? Spike was tempted to just blow his cover and let his crazy, drunken sire wipe him out right here and now.

"Hey, Willy! How 'bout some telly!" he called to the bartender. "And put it up loud, wouldya?"

******************************************************

Emma herded everyone present toward the living room. She watched their energies carefully -- who stood close to whom, and who each one avoided. Very interesting, the complicated dynamics of this group. With all the anger and old hurts standing between them, it was no wonder they had been splintered and scattered to the wind.

Rituals such as the one they needed to perform in order to save Angel required complete concentration and singularity of purpose from every member of the group. No doubt those few who were already trained in the Dark Arts would be able to put aside their personal feelings for the work, but the others...

That was what this exercise was for.

"Mr. Giles, could you please close the blinds? Mr. Pryce, the candles? And Daniel, please bring me the talking stick. Miss Willow and Miss Tara, have you prepared the ritual we discussed?"

As each person she addressed did as she asked, Willow and Tara nodded, pulling out their notes.

"Excellent," Emma praised them, "Please gather what materials you will need, and we can begin," she said.

The room, now dark but for the candlelight, bustled with activity for a few minutes. Willow and Tara went into the kitchen, and returned with a large clay pot, setting it in the center. Giles, Oz, Doyle and Xander worked to move the furniture to the walls, leaving the majority of the room empty. Old Emma gathered a box full of plain white candles, and waited patiently for everyone to finish.

When all the tasks were complete, the group wandered back to the living room, forming a clustered half circle before the old gypsy woman. She looked each member in the eye, noting their expression and demeanor, and then gathered her own magick about her.

She raised the talking stick. "Please form a circle around me," she told them. The players complied, forming a circle in the precise order she would have expected. Familiar, comfortable groupings remained adjacent, and less amicable members kept their distance -- the greater the animosity, the more separately they arranged themselves.

Her instinct was to immediately rearrange them, to help force them to face their obvious anger with one another. But that would only increase the tension, and essentially, ruin what they were trying to accomplish. That was why she had Willow and Tara arrange a modern, therapy-type ritual that would allow them to work beyond those feelings themselves, and enable them to focus on the matter at hand, afterward.

Once the circle was settled, Emma spoke.

"The magick we will perform tonight requires singularity of purpose, and complete focus. I have been watching all of you very closely, and I've seen the many and varied histories between you. There are lingering resentments, here, that will block our effectiveness in working together. We must remedy this before we can move forward to our ultimate concern."

"Gypsies are," she went on, "By nature, solitary magickians, working in groups only when it is necessary for strength of power or protection. So I have asked our more modern magick users to produce a ritual that will benefit us. When we have completed this working, and our energies are in as much harmony as possible, we will begin the more complicated and difficult work necessary to help Angel," She turned to look at the two young Witches to her right, "Willow? Tara? If you would..." she handed the feathered talking stick to the redhead, and sat. The others followed her lead.

Willow cleared her throat. "Um... I found a group cleansing ritual that I think will help with what Emma was talking about. It's a letting go ritual, by Starhawk, who's one of the leaders of the modern Witchcraft movement. You see I put a bowl of salt water in the middle of the circle, and there is a box of candles there, too. Everybody eventually will need to take two. What we'll do first is the cleansing meditation, which I'll lead, then Emma will take over from there, so I, um..." she flicked a nervous look toward Oz, "So I can participate."

The others watched.

Willow looked to Tara, then Emma. "Okay?" she asked.

Emma smiled at her, "Very good," she affirmed, then looked around the circle once again, "Is everyone ready? I warn you, this will be very painful. You will all be forced to call old wounds to the surface that have been long repressed. You will be asked to share truths you had hoped would remain private. There will be hurt feelings. I ask only that you let them go. And finally, all of you must decide-- are you willing to endure what stands before you for the sake of this single soul, Angel? Your motivations need not be pure, but they must be strong. Facing your fears... standing toe to toe with your anger... are very frightening, and if you waver, all will be lost. If you do not wish to participate, that is your right, and I ask that you leave now."

Despite the many expressions of fear and apprehension on the faces around her, no one moved.

Emma smiled, "Very good. Then, Willow? You may begin."

Willow took a deep breath. "Okay. The first thing we'll do is ground and center."

She led the group through a grounding, guiding their minds tot he center of their beings, and gently encouraging them to create psychic roots deep in the earth, allowing them to clear their heads and begin drawing energy from the world around them. When she felt the circle's energies calm and level, she glanced up again, and reached for the bowl of salt water.

"This water represents the womb of the universe. Each of us will take it and meditate on our feelings -- all the negative emotions we have festering inside us, whatever or whoever they are about. We'll visualize our hurts, our angers, and our mistrusts flowing out of us with our breath, and blow them into the water. The womb of the universe will take your wounds and wash them clean. Let it all go... Let all your pain come to the surface. Then, when you feel you're finished, pass the bowl to the person on your left. When everyone in the group is cleansed, we'll share our feelings, one at a time, with each person in the circle. We'll start with the negative, and then do it again with the positive."

She closed her eyes, and Oz's face immediately sprang to the front of her mind. The others watched, each lost in their fears, as they waited for their turn at the womb of the universe.

******************************************************

"Oh, I dunno..." Spike slurred, "I mean, the rack is fun and everything, but..."

A soft thud interrupted his critique of ancient torture devices, and he looked to his right. Angelus had passed out with his head on the bar.

"Told ya I could out-drink you, pussy," he bragged to his unconscious sire.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to drag 225 pounds of senseless vampire through five miles of sewer to the mansion before nightfall. He looked around at the thinning crowd of demons in the bar.

"Say, anybody want to make a quick..." he snatched Angel's wallet from the pocket of his coat and quickly rifled through it, "Uh... seventy bucks?"

******************************************************

It took nearly an hour for the bowl of salt water to complete its journey around the circle. At the end, Emma held it aloft.

"We are cleansed," she announced.

"So mote it be," Willow and Tara pronounced in unison.

"Now, each person please take a single white candle from the box," Emma told them.

The 9 people gathered reached in and each took one. When they settled back once again, Emma replaced the bowl of salt water at the center.

"The candle you hold represents your anger. Each of you will light it, and hold it in your hand. Then, you will please address each person in the circle, and share your negative feelings with them. No one is to comment, or speak, but the person whose candle is currently lit. You are only to listen to one another."

Doyle leaned close to Cordelia, and whispered, "I feel like I'm back in therapy or somethin'..."

Emma lay her black eyes on him, and he immediately shut up.

"When you are finished speaking," she went on, "You will douse your candle in the water, and lay it aside. This will be your resolution, for the time being. You will let your resentment and anger go. Then, you will listen to the others. When we are through, we will repeat the process with a new candle, but this time with the positive feelings you hold for each member of the group." She turned to Oz, who sat to her left, "Daniel, would you begin?"

Oz took a deep breath and lit his candle. The spell he and Emma had cast a few hours earlier made him fell wired, like he had eaten a bowl of sugar and speed, and washed it all down with a gallon of coffee. But he didn't feel the first twitches of the change, which he normally would have by now, so it was all good. He looked at Wesley to his left. Oz didn't really have any feelings toward the Watcher at all, besides thinking he was kind of a wuss.

"You're kind of a wuss," he told him.

Wesley started in shock, "What? Why, I..."

Emma looked at him, "Mr. Pryce?"

Wesley clammed up.

The rest of the hours before nightfall were filled with more of the same. Old wounds brought to the surface, still-festering resentments finally shared. There were many moments when shouting and arguing broke out, and Emma was forced to remind them why they were there.

"If you cannot put aside your personal feelings, come nightfall, it will be too late, and Angelus will surely come and put them aside for you. Forcibly and painfully," she opined matter-of-factly.

Peace always prevailed, Emma's efforts enforced by the drawn, vacant stare of the Slayer.

Buffy listened to it all as though she were a million miles away. Oz revealing his jealousy to Tara... Willow expressing her anger and hurt to Oz... Cordelia yelling at Xander for ruining her life, and Xander shouting his jealousy over Willow to Oz. Giles and Wesley squabbled over who had ruined whose career. Anya complained that they were all stupid, ridiculous or superfluous, somehow. Buffy hardly even cared that each person in the room was angry with her, or resented her for one petty reason or another.

What did any of this matter? She could barely sit still until midnight, when she would be required to step forward and carry the final parts of the ritual on her shoulders alone. When she would have to decide, once and for all: did she love Angel? All of him? And be willing to stake her life on her answer.

She could barely think of anything to say when it was her turn to speak. Any true anger or resentment she felt had been flushed away along with her joy at being reunited with Angel, and all that was left inside her was a whole lot of nothing. She half-heartedly told Oz she was angry with him for hurting Willow. She barely found the energy to tell Wesley that she resented him for driving Faith away. It took all of her strength to tell Cordelia that she was a nasty, catty bitch, or to tell Xander that his abuse of Angel over the years had bordered on cruelty.

But she did, and the circle of pain went on.

******************************************************

Angelus slowly opened his eyes. The pounding in his head was only exacerbated by the Soul's continued keening, and he was starving, as well. His stomach lurched painfully.

He heard slow, heavy breathing from beside him, turned his head stiffly to find its source, and found himself face to face with the ugliest, slimiest Cohre demon he'd ever seen. The leviathan's skin was a deep, burning red, and it fixed its single, oozing orange eye on him as it grumbled softly.

The vampire blinked, his reaction slowed by his painful hangover.

"Who the fuck are you?" he muttered to it.

The demon cocked its almost perfectly square head, and its drooling, fanged oval mouth split into what must have passed, among its species, as a smile.

"Urk Tah put kon go," the Cohre happily told him.

Angelus stared at it.

"Shevahntee Buck," it mumbled, then eased its enormous, smelly carcass out of the chair and lumbered out of the room.

Angelus closed his eyes. Spike must have slipped something into his drink, that rotten bastard. Well, when he got the feeling back in his arms and legs, and his head stopped threatening to explode, he'd have to have a little chat with his impertinent childe. One that would absolutely necessitate the involvement of complete evisceration, followed by leisurely dismemberment.

But first, a little nap.

******************************************************

Practically everyone was crying when Old Emma closed the circle. She sat back to watch the expected outpouring of apologies, gratitude, and healing energy. Every person in the group had shared their pain and disappointments, and then their hopes and love for one another. I was exactly what the situation had warranted, and now they sat down to feast on the cookies and milk Giles brought to the circle, replenishing their energies for the harder work still to come.

All, that is, except the Slayer. When the circle broke, the little blonde got up and walked to the far window in the room, her arms crossed over herself as if to defend against all of her pain, and stared forlornly out at the setting sun. Emma approached her slowly, reaching up to rest her hands on the girl's shoulders.

Buffy turned her head, just a little, to acknowledge the old woman's presence, then returned to her glazed stare out the window.

"What do you see?" Emma asked her, moving around to stand by her side.

"Death," Buffy replied, "Pain. Hate. Darkness. Evil."

Emma nodded sadly. "No hope?"

Buffy looked at the old woman. "I'm afraid to hope."

"Well, that is understandable. If your work tonight is unsuccessful, there will be little hope for any of us."

"No pressure," Buffy snorted bitterly, then shook her head, "I'll kill him before I let him hurt anyone."

"It is good that you are willing to think so," Emma said, "But what if it is you who must die?"

The little blonde shrugged, "So long as it stops him."

Old Emma sighed. "Well, as you will, then. One way or the other, it is almost time for you to go. The sun is set, and Angelus will rise soon. You will need to keep him from here until the spell is cast at midnight."

"So I'm supposed to keep him occupied and keep my eye on the clock? Do you really think multi-tasking is a good idea, here?" Buffy asked snidely.

The gypsy chuckled, "You will know when it is time. But now, I must explain to you exactly what needs to be done. Are you ready?"

Buffy took a final look at the last ray of sun as it disappeared behind the hills, and the first inky grey of night spilled across the sky.

"I'll never be any readier," she said.


	9. Lie Upon Your Lips

When Angelus woke again, it was long past nightfall. He was unclear what exactly happened to him, but he had some vague sensory memories of getting plastered with Spike, along with few of being dragged through the muck of Sunnydale's sewers, but beyond that, nothing. With the exception of the Cohre demon, of course. What the Hell was that about?

He rose, already in a rage, and bolted down the stairs, ready to finally give Spike the lesson in respect he'd been begging for since Angelus' return.

Of course when he reached the bottom, it was immediately clear that Spike and his smelly red friend were nowhere to be seen. Worse, the mansion was spotless -- all the garbage had been hauled away, and no sign remained of his party the previous day.

Angelus spied a page ripped from one of the Soul's books lying on the table, and snatched it up to read the messy scrawl in smudged charcoal.

"It's disrespectful to let one's sire die in filth, so I picked up a bit. Have fun with the Slayer.

Spike"

Angelus bellowed at the top of his lungs in rage and kicked his foot clear through the coffee table.

Damn it! How could he have been so stupid, trusting that fucking chip-headed turncoat bastard? He should have known better! 'Never bite the hand that feeds you' -- he had pounded that knowledge into Spike himself, 120 years ago. And since the Slayer had been hand-feeding his childe since his unfortunate "accident", it only stood to reason that he would take her side over his own...

The Slayer. All his plans for the Slayer and her friends were ruined, now. His opportunity to take them unaware was long past. He remembered what the Gypsy hag had told the Soul -- that there was magick that could restore his balance; give power back to Angel, and banish him, who they considered to be the interloper, forever. She wouldn't give him any details, of course, knowing full well that Angelus would use any knowledge he gained against them. The Soul had predictably agreed. The Scooby Gang was probably halfway through their little magickal Pow Wow, by this time.

"Okay. All right. Not a problem," he reassured himself. But his time was growing shorter by the moment. The question remaining was what to do with it?

Well, if they were going to take him out, the least he could do was leave them something to remember him by. He'd certainly never be able to get close enough to do any noticeable damage to even one of them; the Gypsy and the werewolf, with added help from the Witches and the Watchers, would leave little opportunity for him to get past their wards.

But maybe... just maybe... he could take away the one thing they were so desperately struggling to hold on to:

Himself. If he destroyed the vessel, the damned Soul they cared about so much would be gone once and for all. Radical, okay, but... the results! He only wished that he could go out in a blaze of sunrise glory -- literally -- so they'd all have the picture of their precious Angel turning to dust before their eyes burned into their memories forever. Too bad dawn was so far away...

Hell, he didn't have to wait for the sun -- he could just set himself on fire!

"Brilliant!" he shouted to the empty room. The humans would be sobbing and raging about the scene for years to come -- especially the Slayer! She might never recover from this little blow. Now... where could he get a can of gasoline at this hour? A one turd town like Sunnydale wasn't exactly humming with 24 hour activity...

"You can't be talking about yourself," said Buffy as she entered the French doors behind him. She'd been waiting for him to rise for hours, debating how the Hell she would get this thing started... pondering the things that Old Emma told her she would have to do to save Angel.

She still hadn't decided if any of them stood enough of a chance of success to be worth it.

Angelus whirled to look at her. She was, as usual, breathtaking. Sure he hated the bitch -- but, hate, love... the difference was nominal.

"What's the matter, Slayer? Shouldn't you be out playing Soul Mojo with your little friends?" he sneered, "Or, what, the old bat didn't' really have any answers for you after all, hmm? Boy, I'll tell ya... when those gypsies fuck up a curse, they go out of their way to fuck it up good."

Buffy looked at him evenly. "They can think what they want," she said, slowly moving closer to him, "But we both know only one of two things can happen here."

Angelus smiled. "Really."

"Really."

"Do I dare to ask?" He regarded her approach through narrowed eyes, preparing himself to move -- ready for a flying crossbow bolt or anything else she might have in store for him. No matter how cool and collected she might look, he wasn't buying it.

"You can die, or I can die," she answered flatly.

"Oh. Okay, then, why don't I just stand here and wait for you to get close enough to run me through... again?" he quipped, backing away from her at the same rate she approached.

"We've gone that route already," the Slayer said, "I never like to make the same kill twice."

Angelus stopped in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

Buffy slinked slowly across the room, letting her body do the talking. She touched the broken furniture sensually as she passed until she stood only a few feet away. Then, she looked straight up into her lover's eyes.

Though her lover was nowhere to be found in their mahogany depths.

"I'm saying I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of always doing the right thing and never getting shit for it. I keep giving and giving, sacrificing everything I ever wanted... everything I ever loved... and is the world grateful? Does it get any better for all my hard work? No. In fact, it keeps getting worse. You fucking demons just keep coming and coming, and I can't even get five minutes of happiness."

For the first time in almost 250 years, Angelus, Scourge of Europe and notorious bigmouth, was completely speechless.

Buffy batted her eyelashes at him, "What's the matter, baby?" she purred, running her hands over her tight body, "Don't you want me anymore?"

He gaped at her for another moment, then burst into a fit of maniacal laughter.

"Oh. Oh!" he guffawed, bringing his hand to his chest and stepping away from her, "That's beautiful... just... HA! You're a better actress than Cordelia! Of course, that's not saying much..."

The Slayer didn't falter. She continued stalking toward him. "Come on... I've seen the way you look at me... and all those times you had the chance to kill me? What stopped you? I don't think it had anything to do with the kindness of your heart."

Angelus kept backing away from her, searching around for a weapon. There were-- thanks to Spike, no doubt-- none to be found.

Just the two of them, now...

"Don't be a pussy, Angelus," Buffy went on, her voice still low and smooth. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her filmy blouse and slowly dragged it upward, exposing her bare torso inch by inch. Her breasts sprang into view, then her finely carved shoulders and her slim neck (which he noted was completely cross-less). Finally, she tossed the shirt away. "Don't you like what you see?"

The vampire was absolutely dumbfounded by this amazing turn of events.

Buffy stopped a few feet away and leered at him, slowly licking her full lips. She reached down and undid the ties of her thin skirt, letting it drop to the floor.

There was nothing under it, either. Too fucking much.

"You're the Scourge of Europe, aren't you? You've conquered entire cities... and you can't even take on one little Slayer?"

"Come on, Buff... you really expect me to believe that while your little playgroup is up at Papa Rupert's, busting their asses to get you your precious Whiney Boy back, you decided to come down here, seduce me, and then let me kill you?"

He was backed up as far as he could go, any further motion away from the loony bitch (Naked loony bitch. Hot, naked loony bitch.) blocked by the wall behind him.

Nowhere left to go.

Buffy gave him a smoky gaze. "That more or less sums it up."

Angelus didn't usually bother with breathing, but panting had unexpectedly just become an automatic response. The raging lust for her hard little body almost overwhelmed his lust for her blood. And that *never* happened.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said.

She took the last few steps that separated them, and pressed her naked body against his velvet and leather-clad one. Placing her hands on his chest and standing on tiptoe so they were face to face... so he could feel her hot breath on his lips, she said:

"I love you."

Angelus flinched. The Soul, which had been dead silent through the opening act of this little melodrama, renewed its tortured screaming, objecting with all of its might to the Slayer's obvious intentions.

Seducing the enemy. Very clever. Hell, why not?

He looked down into her sweet little face and found that her desire at least appeared genuine... she stunk like lust... Her nipples stood at full attention against the velvet of his shirt, and his cock made the final determination on the situation.

Physically, anyway. What the fuck did she have to bring love into it for?

"I think you're confused," he said in a low half-moan, "You love Him. Not me."

Buffy caressed his face with her eyes.

"Do I look confused?" she whispered.

Angelus considered her carefully. She most definitely did not look confused. But if there was anything he hated, it was relinquishing control over a tricky situation, and any attempt at seduction by a Vampire Slayer most absolutely qualified as tricky. Even if she was naked.

"All right then," he said, keeping his voice low and thick, just this far from hypnotizing, "Tell me what you want. Exactly."

Using his shoulders for purchase, she leaned up farther to whisper in his ear. "I want you to fuck me until I can't take it anymore. Then, when I'm coming, screaming your name, I want to feel your fangs in my throat. I want you to drink me dry. Finally..." she breathed heavily, puffing the fine hair on his ear, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine and a throb to his groin, "Finally... I want to taste you. I want you to make me yours... forever."

His body was instantly screaming for her -- the ultimate target of his many obsessions. The woman he dreamt about draining, his cock buried deep in her hot core, day and night; who he raged in jealous fury over whenever the Soul made love to her. He remembered the times he'd tasted her... especially the last, when the werewolf's magick had first loosened the Soul's control, and the Slayer had driven him to sink his teeth into her sweet flesh. When she had begun to free him with the power of her charmed life's essence...

He wanted to hurt her. Wanted her to scream and beg and cry out his name... he wanted to feel her die and watch her be resurrected... he just wanted her.

But he hadn't lived over a hundred years as the nastiest bastard around by just giving in to his every dangerous whim. That was Spike's modus operandi.

Angelus snarled, and before Buffy could react, he had her by the throat. Closing his hand enough to choke her, he lifted her easily off the floor and held her at eye level.

"You're full of shit, you lying bitch," he spat in her face, "You don't want me. You don't want me to fuck you, or turn you, or anything else. What kind of fucking idiot do you take me for?" He tossed her across the room like a rag doll, feeling better immediately upon hearing her bare ass hit the stone floor with a satisfying smack.

Reeling, Buffy struggled to sit up, her body robbed of breath by the impact. She took a moment to collect herself, then forced herself to look up at her demon lover once again. He glared at her with such hate and fury, she was certain his next move would be to tear her apart.

"I love you," she repeated, "I've always loved you. All of you. If I can't be alive and have you with a Soul, then I'd rather die and share eternity with you without one."

He knew it had to be a lie, and yet... There was no denying the taste of hard-fought truth in her words. They cut through him -- through his cold, dead heart, and all the way down to his weakened Soul. It heard her words too, and began fighting anew with what little strength it still possessed. Angelus felt his rage grow in response, now edged with blazing hunger and all-consuming desire, and advanced on her.

Buffy fought her body's fight or flight urges, focusing instead on her deepest, darkest wants... the lowest, dirtiest part of her she could touch -- the shadows of her own Soul. It was the whore within her -- the Bitch Goddess who had dreamed of her lover's evil half in spite of herself... who had fantasized about being mauled by the demon -- drunk by him -- a hundred times who she needed to be.

She drew strength of purpose from that part, and let only those hot, forbidden shadows show in her eyes. Her lover's evil alter ego was many things... but naive was certainly not one of them. Emma had told her -- she had to believe what she was doing, if they wanted him to.

"You love me?" Angelus hissed, "You love *Him* -- that simpering, cowering loser. You want Him, with all his flowery words and pretty music and empty promises... Humans make me *sick*."

"I don't care about that," Buffy told him, holding his killing gaze and keeping her voice steady, "I want you."

"Then you're sicker than the rest!" he shouted, turning on his heel and stomping out of the room.

((Enough of this bullshit. Where the fuck is that broadsword?))

Angelus could hear her heart pounding... could smell the heat of her building arousa, and in less than a blink, she was behind him again. Before he even had the chance to turn to face her, she grabbed him and spun him around, forcing his head down to hers, and kissed him fiercely.

The hot contact of her lips on his sent a series of electric explosions shattering through him. Any doubt or indecision evaporated, and he grabbed her bare, tiny form, crushing her against him as he devoured her mouth.

There was no resisting this pull -- the siren song of her blood and the juices flowing from between her legs. He plunged his tongue between her teeth, finding hers and tangling with it, licking and sucking as her hands roamed up his back and into his hair.

Angelus worked his mouth down to her neck, kissing and biting her steaming flesh, but resisting the compulsion to break her delicate skin... yet. He would have more than his fill of her hot, living body before he took that heat from it forever.

Buffy moaned at his familiar, possessive touch, and tore at his shirt, shredding it from his back and tossing the tatters away, desperate to get her hands and mouth on his broad, muscular torso. Angelus grunted like a starving animal as he bent down to her chest, sealing every inch of her skin between his lips until he reached her rock hard nipples.

She gasped as he closed his teeth around one and bit down hard, sending a screech of pain through her before he soothed it with his lips and tongue. He let his hands roam free of her long dreamed of body... that form his shell and Soul knew so intimately, but that he himself had never had the glory to experience. His hands flowed along the lines of her perfect curves, and shifted his mouth to the neglected breast as he followed the lean line of her back, down to her tiny waist and her perfectly round hips, until they closed under the hard, muscular globes of her amazing ass. He squeezed them, crushing her pelvis into his, eliciting yet another shocked, passionate cry from her.

Lifting her feet from the floor, he let them fall backward. He heard her breath explode from her lungs as her back made violent contact with the cold stone with his considerable weight on top of her. The Slayer's tiny hands mauled him, searing his cold flesh, making his muscles clench and shudder under their fierce attentions.

"Ah!" she cried out, "I want you! God! Take me!"

He growled and began tearing at his pants as he continued to assault every inch of her that he could reach with his mouth and teeth.

The last barrier between them gone, Angelus ascended her body, sliding his tongue in a chilling line down the center of her, from her chest, over flat belly and directly into the swollen tissue between her legs. He dove face first into her, devouring her pulsing flesh, plunging his tongue deep inside her throbbing opening, teasing her ultra-sensitive inner lips in a way he knew full well from experience would drive her mad.

As crazy as she was making him, with any luck.

The Slayer thrashed beneath him, moaning senselessly at his completely intimate, yet utterly foreign touch. She cried out as his tongue moved swiftly out of her center, up the trail of nerves that led to her clit, replacing it with three long, thick fingers, stretching her to the blissful breaking point while he suckled that most sensitive part of her, teasing its tip with his cold tongue.

Angelus' senses were overwhelmed as he fingered her brutally. He didn't bother controlling the change as he felt his fangs come down, and allowed their points to barely scratch her burning skin. The sudden pain in the midst of her intense pleasure shot Buffy over the edge. She bellowed, long beyond any thought, sense or reason as she came, clawing at his head to pull him closer, clamping her strong legs around his shoulders so hard, Angelus was sure she would crush him.

He didn't care. He ate her until her climax subsided, and she reached down, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him upward until they were face to face. She looked, without fear, into his gleaming amber eyes.

"I've always wanted you. All of you," she growled, "Take me. Make me yours."

He snarled and grabbed her wrists, yanking them up over her head, and pried her legs open with his knee. He pushed himself between them, resting the head of his cock just outside her steaming opening. Her increased blood flow incensed him, making his rage grow in perfect time with his desperate, consuming desire.

"You want me, Slayer? I could break you in half," he growled. "I could rip you apart, right now."

"Yes," Buffy moaned, "Hurt me."

He grinned, rubbing her still pulsing pussy with the head of his cock. She arched her back, moaning as she spread her legs wider, trying to force him inside.

"Beg for it, bitch," he hissed, "Tell me how bad you want it."

The Slayer opened her big green eyes and looked straight at him.

"Please," she groaned, "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me. Please! I want it. I need you inside me. Now. Please, Angelus! Please!" she cried.

Riding the thrilling charge of dominating the Slayer, holding her arms fast, Angelus rammed himself home. She cried out in pain and delirious pleasure as he invaded her, and she took him as deep as he could go. He threw his head back and matched her cries with his own as he slammed mercilessly into her, jerking her body so hard against his grip on her wrists, he heard her shoulders pop.

Buffy cried out, grunting loudly in time with each vicious thrust, rocking her hips up and into him, making the rhythm twice as violent.

He felt her body spasm around him and finally losing the last of his control, he dove to her tender throat and tore into her jugular, groaning in senseless bliss as the artery ruptured beneath his powerful jaws. Buffy screamed as she came, her entire body, inside and out, going stone rigid from the brute strength of her orgasm. He kept fucking her viciously as the hot blood shot from her veins, over his tongue, and into his throat. He grunted as he drank her greedily, feeling the magick within her flash through his every cell. The well-remembered bliss of her life essence drove him into screaming darkness, and he released his feeding hold to let out a howl of his own as he climaxed, plunging his cold seed deep inside of her.

The shock of the supercharged feed and his sudden release drained him utterly, and hecollapsed on top of her heaving breast. They lay there for a moment, silent but for their labored breathing, Angelus still inside her and holding her arms pinned over her head. He was forced to let her go when a wave of weakness and nausea washed over him. The Slayer brought them down and around him, cradling him closer to her as the world spun around his head.

He was shaking uncontrollably.

Buffy's strength wavered from the loss of blood. Maybe she had waited too long... maybe she'd let him take too much, and her ruse was about to become a horrible reality. It was almost finished. There was so little she still had to do... but she couldn't seem to move any more than he could.

"Buffy..." Angelus sighed deeply into her neck.

The single word was like a shot of adrenaline straight to her heart. This monster was Angel... the rest of him was merely trapped, and he needed her to finish this and set him free -- to make him finally whole.

Buffy used all the strength she could muster to lean her head up, grabbing the back of his by the hair and yanking it to the side. Without hesitating, she found the most vulnerable part of his throat, and chomped her blunt teeth down, tearing at his flesh until she tasted the metallic tang of her own blood flow from him and into her mouth. Fighting the sickness and dizziness that threatened, she drank, taking three long, sucking gulps of him before she pulled her mouth away again.

Angelus groaned, reaching to pull her back to the wound.

"Yes..." he whispered weakly, "Yes..."

"I love you," Buffy declared for the third time.

Thunder cracked the air around them, making her ears pop. Angelus, stoned on her blood, dragged his head up and looked at her in confusion. Holding him fast between her strong legs, still tasting him in her mouth, she began to chant.

"Adaius. Rabicus. Amourous."

Angelus tensed in her embrace, instantly alert. The spell's power grew tangibly in the air around them, making it hot and thick as it crackled with electricity.

"Dius. Mikidus. Rohnus. Zyadum," Buffy went on.

He began to struggle, weakly pushing against her to pull away. Feeling the power continue to grow, and his strength quickly fade, Buffy sank her mouth back to the gushing wound on his neck, and again took three long pulls from his vein. She held the blood in her mouth, tasting it on her tongue for a moment, then turned her head and spat it out on the floor.

"ABANUS! DAKONUS AYE!" she shouted, the last of her own strength leaking away.

Angelus fought with what little was left of his vigor, managing to break the grip of her legs and roll off. He set a murderous glare on her as his muscles went from their blissfully relaxed state to stone rigid in a matter of moments.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he bellowed.

"AMOUROUS! KIBAYUS! LIMORA!" Buffy screamed in his face, "DIE, YOU FUCKING PIG!!!!"

Far, far too late, he realized his fatal mistake.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" he screeched at her, unable to rise from the floor, "I'LL TEAR YOU APART!!!!"

Buffy dragged herself just out of his reach, and looked down at him, her face a twisted mask of tenderness and hatred, as he writhed in pain before her, "I love you," she said softly, "NOW ROT IN HELL!!! APIDUM, CARIUS, AYE!!!!"

Angelus screamed, a long, demonic, echoing wail that Buffy knew would haunt her nightmares until the day she died. He made one final attempt to reach for her, and then collapsed, his eyes closed, the grasping hand limp only inches from her ankle. She sat, panting and weak, and stared at him for a moment, then moved over his prone body and regarded him closely. His expression was peaceful and serene, as if he were sleeping, dreaming happy dreams. Buffy hesitantly reached out and touched his beloved face, cupping one proud cheekbone in her tiny hand.

"I bind you. Your Soul and mine, until time ceases to be. I bind you. Your Soul and mine, until time ceases to be. I bind you. Your Soul and mine, until time ceases to be," she chanted, then leaned down to tenderly kiss his cold cheek. Sitting up again, she mentally closed the circuit of power she had drawn between herself and the others, and said softly, "It is done. So mote it be."

Buffy could barely stay upright anymore. She could feel the weird magick of his blood and hers mixing in her aching veins, and it was all she could do not to retch.

Finally, she gathered enough energy to rise, and lifted Angel's dead weight as gently as possible, dragging him slowly and painfully up the stairs to the bedroom. She had to stop every few feet to fight her dizziness and catch her breath, but after what seemed an eternity, she got him into bed. She cleaned the blood off his body with a warm washcloth and tenderly bandaged the gaping wound on his neck, then tucked him tightly under the comforter.

Once he was settled, she went into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower, letting the searing water pour over her, too numb to cry or do anything else but stand there and let it wash the blood away. She dried herself off and went to his closet, taking one of the few remaining pieces of clothing that hung there -- ironically enough, her favorite wine-colored silk shirt -- and put it on. Even the soft cloth hurt as it slid over her violated skin. She finally claimed two stakes from their hiding place in the closet's back panel, and stumbled back over to the chair beside the bed, letting her weakness and utter exhaustion finally overcome her. Her body sagged into itself, and Buffy sat, clutching the stakes and sobbing deeply as she waited for the sunrise.


	10. Awakening

The next morning dawned warm and bright, filled with the cheery sound of birdsong. Xander Harris grumbled morosely to himself as he walked toward the mansion on Crawford Street, wanting to be comforted by the picture perfect day, and the birds singing... as opposed to thinking about the Ozone layer, and Hitchcock movies.

Somebody had to go and find out how Buffy had fared with the deadly ritual, and whether or not the marathon therapy session and subsequent frantic chanting had worked. The group knew the magick had gone out -- they knew they had raised an incredible amount of power and released it into the universe the moment lightning had shattered the air, signaling Buffy casting her spell. But what they didn't know was what had happened after that. Something had definitely gone down, the air had crackled and snapped for hours as they chanted, clutching hands in another of Emma's precious circles. Then, nothing. Nobody had wanted the possibly very unpleasant job of finding out what happened, and so they had drawn straws.

Xander lost.

He hated the whole thing, start to finish. Hell, the start of all this had really been three and a half months ago, when Buffy had vanished from Giles' living room one afternoon and then come traipsing back three days later, with the ever so cheerful news that she was back to knocking undead boots once again. The fact that Xander's fears had been confirmed didn't make him feel one damned bit better. He liked the shining, happy Buffy that had finally reappeared upon her reunion with her "one true love". She was certainly better than Pod Buffy, the sullen, mopey-assed crybaby of a girl they'd been living with since graduation and Dead Boy's initial departure, but still...

Of course, for all he knew, he was about to find out that there was no more Buffy at all -- not an acceptable price to have to pay to get rid of Angel, that's for sure.

Dread clutched at his chest as he climbed the last hill overlooking the gardens of the mansion. The French doors hung carelessly open. He had to force himself to walk inside and look around.

Okay... nothing seemed to out of place...

A warm little hand took his and he half jumped out of his skin. He looked into his other best friend's eyes.

"Willow, now is not a good time for stealth," he whispered frantically.

"Sorry. Why are you whispering?" she whispered back.

"Because the possibility of waking two angry, murderous vampires frightens me more than the possibility of waking one angry, murderous vampire?" he squeaked.

Willow squeezed his hand as they stepped further inside. A peaceful hush hung in the air -- the result of the vacuum of anti-sound created by really strong magick, Willow knew. Everything looked okay... hmmm, except the annihilated coffee table... the air smelled damp and cool and kind of odd, but that was to be expected in a vampire's lair, wasn't it?

Xander tugged at her sleeve when they arrived at the other side of the living room.

There was a trail. It started with Buffy's blouse, continued with her skirt, and then spread out across the floor with the torn remains of Angel's black velvet shirt, his leather pants, and...

Blood. A lot of blood. It congealed in dark puddles here and there, then was smeared in a giant circle in the far corner.

"Oh, god..." Willow moaned.

Xander was unable to respond at all. He stared at the puddles in horrified silence.

But then he noticed that the blood turned back into a bright crimson trail that led away from the main scene of the carnage. He pulled a stake and cross out of his pocket, and felt Willow swing the crossbow she'd brought from her back as they followed the gruesome path. Their hearts thundered as they tip-toed down the hall... up the stairs... and into Angel's bedroom.

Willow was moved nearly to tears by the sight they found, in spite of her paralyzing fear.

Buffy was curled up on her side on the bed, sleeping (or at least, she appeared to be sleeping) peacefully, the sheet pulled up over her shoulders. Angel's enormous body was spooned tightly around her, his big arms encircling her protectively, and his face buried in her hair on the pillows.

"Okay, I want to say that's cute," Xander whispered, "But it could be cute and she could still be a vampire..."

Willow nodded, and he let go of her hand, stepping lightly into the bedroom with his cross raised. She gulped and trained the crossbow on the sleeping couple as Xander approached the bed.

One step... two steps... Xander held the cross up and clutched the stake fiercely. He was right over them, now... trying to find signs that Buffy was still alive.

The first little ray of hope shone when he saw that Angel's thick neck was carefully bandaged, and that no blood was visible on the bed or either of its occupants. Whatever had made the gory mess downstairs had been washed away.

The second, and more definitive sign came when Buffy sighed deeply, wriggling further into Angel's embrace, and began to snore softly.

Xander almost collapsed with relief as he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and began to quietly back away, tucking his weapons back into his pocket. Willow strapped the crossbow back into carrying position and grabbed him in a happy hug as they turned to leave.

"Guys..." they heard Buffy whisper. They turned around.

Their closest friend gazed up at them with exhausted, tear-stained eyes, and smiled softly. She didn't move out of the circle of Angel's arms around her, but her feelings were clear.

"Thank you," she whispered, a stray tear spilling down her bruised cheek.

Willow and Xander smiled without replying and closed the door behind them as they walked away.

"That's so sweet..." Willow finally sighed, her own tears spilling over.

Xander gave her a squeeze. "I can't say I totally agree, but I know what you mean," he said.

They looked at each other for a long moment, the many words that had passed between them the night before hanging in the air. They'd known each other for a very long time... they'd been through Hell together. Their lives had changed in a million ways because of the courageous little blonde that now slept in the arms of her vampire in the room they just vacated...a million ways that they could never fully express, not even to one another.

Xander kissed Willow gently on the tip of her nose.

"I love you, Witchy Poo..." he said.

"I love you too, Xander," she replied, and smiled.

"So, do ya think Dead Boy's got a mop, or are we gonna have to take a trip to Safeway?" Xander asked as they climbed down the stairs, trying not to slip in the trail of blood on the way down.

***********************************************************

Angel's awareness came slowly. He woke in agony, his entire body feeling bruised and broken, and his head pounding as if there was a little man inside smashing his tender skull with a very large hammer. His stomach lurched painfully, and every millimeter of tissue in his body felt as though it had been sucked dry.

Had he been drinking? He slowly opened his eyes.

Buffy's sweetly sleeping face was only inches from his on the pillow. Her pearly lids were closed, their thick lashes softly brushing the tops of her flushed cheeks, and her lips were turned up in a smile of a deep, contented sleep, filled with happy dreams.

Angel felt the corners of his own mouth twitch in response to the sight. He stretched his arms -- which turned out to be a very painful thing indeed -- and wrapped them around her, pulling her closer. Buffy automatically burrowed deeper into his embrace, sighed happily, and relaxed back into sleep once more.

What had they been doing? No doubt battling something horrible. His mind was muddled, and he couldn't seem to wrap his consciousness around any memories of the past few days, although his body definitely felt like it had been run through a laundry press. He couldn't remember ever being in so much pain. When he wasn't being tortured in Hell, anyway...

Well... whatever had happened, he hoped they'd defeated it. And considering they were both lying there, more or less intact, he could only assume that they had.

He looked lovingly into his mates' beautiful face once again. God, how much he loved her... today, it seemed, more than he ever had. Trying not to wake her, he brushed a tender kiss to her forehead.

Oops. Buffy opened her eyes, setting their over-wise, misty green depths on him, and smiled sleepily.

"Angel?" she whispered in that way she always had... that soft, surprised tone that said she almost expected him not to be there. He smiled and kissed her softly on her sweet, swollen lips.

He couldn't help the nagging sensation in his gut that there was something terribly important that he was supposed to remember... something he should be doing or saying... But more than that, more even than the aching in his tired muscles, Angel felt a desperate need to touch her -- to keep her close, and never let her out of his arms again.

Buffy didn't try to wake all the way. She let the sweet dream of her Angel take her, kissing her bruised mouth and her tear-swollen face. She let his gentle hands caress her hair and her stiff back. His lips were cool and soft, and swollen themselves, but every touch was so close to a blessing, she just didn't care.

Angel gently kissed the perfect line of her ear, and slowly moved his attention to her fine neck.

He jerked away, shaking her roughly.

She snapped awake. "Angel... what?" she asked, still sleepy and confused.

He sat up, his face a sudden mask of rage.

"What is that?" he barked, indicating the angry purple welts around her throat, and the vicious, tearing vampire bite on her neck with a nod of his head, "What happened to you?"

Buffy blinked and stared up at him. "I... you don't remember?" She struggled to sit up, pulling the sheets to herself to cover the rest of her wounded body before he could see it.

Angel felt a fury like none he'd ever experienced course through him as he examined her her. Her beautiful neck was only the worst of it -- her wrists had matching wounds, as did most of her arms that were visible over the sheets. She looked like she'd been beaten with a bat. He reached out and angrily snatched the sheet from her, almost dissolving into tears when the rest of her body was revealed to him. Every inch of her was covered with dark bruises and barely-healed flesh that had obviously been torn by teeth. He had sudden flashbacks of Hell, and almost panicked.

"Jesus, Buffy... God... what did this to you???" he gasped, his grimace deepening, "Are you... God, of course you're not okay... what..." Finally, he abandoned speech and grabbed her, clutching her to him.

Buffy burst into tears and threw her arms around Angel, speaking his name over and over again, ignoring the shooting pain that stabbed her entire body from his desperate embrace.

After a few moments, he pulled her away again.

"Buffy... you have to tell me... What happened? I don't remember."

She looked at him through her tears of joy and pain. Should she tell him? Should she just let him forget? Lie, and tell him some creature had attacked her, and rendered him senseless and unable to come to her aid? Didn't he deserve that comfort, instead of more pain?

No. He would have to know the truth. Sooner or later, he would remember everything. But not now. Now Buffy just wanted to feel him... feel the warmth of his soul wrapped around hers... let his love ease her pain away. She reached up and touched the contours of his beautiful face.

"Not now. Later, I promise," she said, searching his eyes and nearly falling to tears once again when she saw the kind, deep fire flickering there. The fire that burned from the depths of his precious soul... that she knew burned only for her. Because of her.

Angel's brow knit in concern and confusion.

"But... you're hurt so badly... I have to...I need to know..."

She stopped him with a gentle fingertip to his lips.

"You don't have to do anything. Just... hold me," she said, and pulled him to her, brushing her lips softly to his once again, "Make love to me... slow... gentle..." she added.

Angel put his arms around her, trying his best not to jar her or crush any of her many wounds, but he was desperate to get closer to her... to feel her heat on him and in him, helping to melt away his pain and fear that something had happened that she wasn't telling him... something terrible.

He kissed her tenderly once more, tasting the tiny wounds in her mouth and on her tongue. Holding her as if she were made of glass, he gently lay her back down on the bed, and began caressing her with an aching sadness, taking stock of all the many injuries on her upper body. He lightly traced each cut, bruise, and tear with his fingertips, and bent down, hovering over her to kiss them. He willed healing into each of her pains, as he administered his attentions all over her neck and breasts, kissing a tiny apology on each torn nipple, over her cracked ribs and her bruised belly, delicately over the discolored flesh on her hipbones. He moved over her pelvis, and hoped nothing below there was injured as he placed a kiss to her curls.

Buffy flinched and took a painful, short gasp of air. Angel froze at the sound and looked down at the place where his lips had just been.

He soon gave a pained gasp of his own. When he'd thought every inch of Buffy was hurt, he hadn't imagined it would, literally, be every inch. The fair, satin skin of her inner thighs was blanketed with hand-shaped marks so dark they were nearly black.

Hands roughly the size and shape of his own.

Angel sat back on his knees between her legs, looking down at her violated body in horror... and slowly dawning realization.

"I did this to you..." he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Buffy struggled to sit up once more. "Not exactly," she said, unable to look him in the eye.

He grabbed her chin forcing her gaze to his, "What happened, then, *exactly*?" he hissed.

She sighed. Angel eased off his knees and sat beside her, waiting.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked.

Angel considered for a moment before responding, "Shopping in San Francisco."

Buffy steeled herself and began the story from where they ran into Oz, continuing from there... about the magick, their first bloodplay, and briefly about Angelus' return.

"It was the gypsy magick," she explained, "It does something to the balance of... supernatural creatures. It's how the were-people learn to control the change. But with you, it did the opposite -- it gave the demon control. And Old Emma taught me..."

"Old Emma. The Romani woman," he interjected with distaste.

Buffy nodded and forged on, "She said that Angelus was only strong because the blood moon tends to stir up bad feelings... rage, hatred. So all of that, plus... my blood... brought him out of you again. When you went up to the mountains, it all just exploded, and... you weren't... you, anymore," she concluded.

Angel stared off into space. "I remember... being in the forest... running from something."

"Willow and Oz said you took off into the woods after you talked to Old Emma," Buffy confirmed.

It was coming clearer to him, now... visions of the brightly lit night... the old woman's home... the Tower in her tarot reading...

"She told me my dark half was coming... that there was nothing I could do to stop it... But I could... I could get as far away from Sunnydale... and from you, as I was able..."

Buffy scowled, but tried to hide it from him. "Well, you came back here anyway," she told him, "Along with everybody else. It was like everyone we've ever known found out what happened to you at once, and came back to help..."

Angel was pretty certain they hadn't come for him... "Everyone, who?" he asked.

"Cordy and Doyle... Wesley... Oz and Old Emma. Plus, the gang... and Spike."

He spun to stare at her in shock, "Spike helped you? What exactly did he do?"

"He took you out and got you drunk," Buffy reported matter-of-factly.

"Oh. That explains it..." he muttered. He couldn't help a big helping of incredulity at the details of Buffy's story... even Angelus wouldn't go out drinking with Spike, would he?

"And what did the rest of you have to do?" he looked shamefully into her eyes, "What did *you* have to do?"

Buffy couldn't hold his gaze. "We had to raise your soul's strength again. I had to beat him from the inside, by helping you. I had to love him," she said.

A look of pure disgust flashed across Angel's face, "What?"

"Emma told me that finding my love for that part of you, wherever I kept it hidden, and showing it to you... him... whatever. That giving in to him would throw him off his guard, and I could bind him," she went on.

Her gaze flicked quickly to the dressed wound on his neck and then away again. He noticed, and let his hand wander to the gauze.

"You... fed off me..." he said weakly.

Buffy nodded slowly. "I had to... to take control... to channel the energy the others raised so I could... drive him away... after... I mean, after he..."

Angel looked away, ashamed and disgraced, "After you let him touch you... drink from you..." He remembering more of the previous night, now... he could recall the animal noises Buffy had made while he nursed from her veins... he could remember his teeth in her throat... the taste of her violated flesh... her charmed blood...

"Yes," she said, "It was the only way to save you."

He could barely contain himself. He wanted to shake her... scream at her... shout that he could have killed her, or worse, turned her. What a stupid a chance she had taken with her own precious life, to save him, who had no purpose, without her!

But he refrained. Buffy had only done exactly what he'd asked -- what she had to do. He would have done no differently in her position. Kill or die... it had always been that way between them.

"I see," he said simply.

Buffy leaned her head on his shoulder. "I couldn't let you die. I couldn't let him just..." she sighed, "But... at least... your soul is bound. You're all... integrated. Whole. Now and forever. No more Angelus."

Angel nodded. There was, at least, that. He could feel a new peace deep inside, like a thousand pounds of chains he had always carried around his neck were suddenly gone... But at what cost? He tried to keep his eyes from her desecrated body.

How could he ever be truly absolved for such a heinous crime?

"And, um... there's one more thing..." she added, hesitant to bring it up when she could feel that he was already confused and in so much pain.

He turned to look at her once more, "Yes..."

"Our souls are kind of... bound. I mean, your soul and mine... like... yours is a balloon, and it's tied to my soul's wrist, and as long as I'm walking around, it'll... you'll... stay with me," she babbled.

Angel felt a rush of love and gratitude for her overcoming his deep discrace. She was his precious angel... his salvation. His champion.

"I will," he vowed, and kissed her.

Buffy pulled away and looked deeply into his eyes, "I love you, Angel. All of you. Even him," she said with sincerity.

He placed a hand on either side of her face and kissed her again... and again...

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said, his voice edged with guilt and tears, "I'm so sorry..."

Angel tenderly lay her back down on the bed again and stretched out behind her, holding her gently in his arms as he caressed her with a feather touch, sweeping his hands inch by inch over the front of her body.

Each time she flinched when he brushed some tender spot, he wanted to kill himself. He remembered everything, slowly, and his pride in her strength and devotion to him grew in correlation with his horrified mortification. She was an amazing woman -- a warrior the likes of which he'd never encountered before in his many years.

The biggest miracle of all, he thought, was that she still sighed at his touch. Still loved him enough that he could smell it on her skin.

He cradled Buffy in his arms, doing his best not to hurt her, kissing her injured neck and throat as he whispered to her of the many things he felt inside him. So many things... so many manifestations of love, respect, admiration...

Buffy moaned softly and whispered to him in return, pressing her back against his chest, turning her head to encourage his lips toward hers. Their mouths entwined and search one another's, and Buffy sighed his name as she felt his fingers dip gently between her legs, finding the most torn and bruised part of her sensitive flesh.

Angel caressed her slowly, tenderly sinking his finger into her dampness, thrilling with her immediate and strong response. He wanted so desperately to give her as much pleasure as he had given her pain... to make her cry with ecstasy instead of shock and fear...

He lightly rubbed his moistened finger over her swollen inner folds, tracing and smoothing each inch of her wetness, until it lovingly sought out the centerpoint of her pleasure. Even that was bruised, so he kept his contact light and painfully slow, making sure his fingertips remained wet as he caressed her.

Buffy moaned, relishing the fiery mixture of pleasure and pain his touch elicited in her. He was so gentle, so loving, she felt the seemingly endless river tears begin to flow again in spite of her hot pleasure. To think that Angel had so many things inside him... this tenderness, as well as the terrible rage she had experienced last night... it made her think that he was a very incredible man, indeed. And that she was incredibly lucky to have his love.

She didn't think it for long, however, as the sheer physical sensation of his fingertips inside her soon overwhelmed any conscious thought on her part.

A million expressions of love and apology jammed together in Angel's still-fuzzy mind, but he didn't bother with the words. Keeping his rhythm with his fingers, he gently bent Buffy forward, encouraging her legs apart with his knee, and eased himself inside her.

Buffy tensed, and he heard her yelp a little in pain. He stopped and held her tenderly.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore, Buffy..." he said, his voice rough as he prepared to pull away. "Ever."

"No! Please... don't stop," she whispered, her breath coming fast, "Please. You feel so good... I need you. I need to feel you."

Angel closed his eyes and leaned into her, resuming his gentle, easy rhythm with his hips and fingers. He found that he was sore, too, and the little tearing thrill of pain the friction between them produced forced his tears from his tired eyes. He wrapped himself around her, moving in and out of her soothing heat slowly, feeling as if he hadn't made love to her in a million years.

She whimpered softly beneath him as his hands stirred her, and he filled her, over and over again. Had she come so close to losing this?

Angel felt Buffy's inner muscles tense, and her cries swiftly became louder and more desperate as she came against him, struggling to grind her hips forward on to his hand, and back onto his hardness inside of her. His own pleasure was quickly overwhelming him, their gentle coupling too much for his tenuous control. His aching body contracted, and he cried out, dipping his head down to tenderly kiss the wounds he'd inflicted on her neck as his cool seed spilled deep inside her.

As their orgasms eased, Angel pulled her closer, wrapping his body as tightly around hers as he could, remaining inside her as they quietly cried themselves back to sleep.


	11. Restoration

Spike didn't find anything particularly festive about a bonfire -- unless its fuel was a houseful of people or something. But the two cases of Guinness Giles had procured for him made up for the little twitch of fear the raging fire stirred in his gut.

The beach was an absolute madhouse of mortal joy. The whole gang was there, and then some -- Spike was certain he noticed at least three or four people that he didn't recognize. Some of that blasted Irish traditional music violated his ears like nails on a chalkboard, and he cringed uncomfortably as he watched Giles and Doyle performing some twisted mockery of a jig on the loose sand, the others looking on, laughing and clapping loudly.

One thing Spike had to give credit to the living for: they sure knew how to celebrate not dying horribly.

Angel wandered over and sat down on the log beside him, also watching the party with a weird half-smile on his face. After a moment, he turned and looked at his childe.

"Hey," he said, nodding toward the cooler that Spike guarded like a treasure chest. "Can you spare one of those?"

"No," the younger vampire replied, but handed him one anyway.

Angel took a couple of deep pulls from the brown bottle, and didn't look at his childe as he said, "Listen, Spike..."

"Don't apologize," the blonde interrupted.

Angel gave him a cold smile that left Spike wondering for a second if the soul whammy had *really* worked. "I had no intention of it."

Spike nodded. "Good. Save all that mushy crap for the Slayer," he said, polishing off his drink and reaching for another, "I'd say you owe her a Hell of a lot more than me."

"Yeah..." Angel agreed, "I do."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I have to thank you, though. For helping us," Angel said, obviously not fond of the idea.

Spike shrugged. "I didn't do it out of the goodness of my heart, plonker. I just wasn't fond of the notion of a limb-ectomy."

"Good call," Angel chuckled, "I thought about it. Very seriously."

"I know you did," Spike told him.

The silence fell again, easier and more companionable, this time. Or at least... as easy and companionable as things ever got between them.

"I have to know," Angel added, "How the Hell did you get that Cohre to drag me across town in the middle of the day?"

"Stole your wallet..." Spike told him, "Paid it 70 bucks."

"Good thinking. Very clever," Angel admitted.

"Yeah, I thought so. I sure as Hell wasn't going to carry your fat ass that far. Besides, you owed me 100 bucks anyway."

The dark-haired vampire looked at him strangely, "For what?"

"Your idiot alter-ego bet me a Ben Franklin he could drink me under the table," he grinned at his re-souled Sire, "Needless to say, he lost. Pitifully."

"Huh," Angel said, and then burst into hearty laughter.

"So..." Spike went on, interrupting his mirth. "Pay up."

Angel looked at him, his smile fading, "Hell no."

Spike nodded and grabbed yet another beer. All was as it should be in the world... Buggering git was obviously good as new.

**************************************

Everyone sat around the fire, toasting marshmallows and chatting happily. There was a warm cohesiveness binding them all that they hadn't felt in years (and some of them had never felt with this group before at all...), and it buoyed all their spirits further.

Oz picked up his guitar and began to strum a jaunty melody. Willow, comfortably ensconced between him and Tara, recognized the tune, and couldn't help but sing.

"Well, if you want to sing out, sing out.   
And if you want to be free, be free.   
'Cause there's a million things to be   
You know that there are."

Giles remembered the old Cat Stevens tune, and added his smooth baritone to Willow's warbily soprano.

"If you want to live high, live high   
And if you want to live low, live low   
'Cause there's a million ways to go   
You know that there are.

You can do what you want   
The opportunity's on   
And if you find a new way   
You can do it today   
You can make it all true   
And you can make it undo, you see

It's easy   
You only need to know.

Well, if you want to say yes, say yes.   
And if you want to say no, say no.   
'Cause there's a million ways to go   
You know that there are.   
And if you want to be me, be me   
And if you want to be you, be you '  
Cause there's a million things to do   
You know that there are.

You can do what you want   
The opportunity's on   
And if you find a new way   
You can do it today.   
You can make it all true   
And you can make it undo, you see...

It's easy   
You only need to know."

By the last verse, nearly everyone was singing, creating a lopsided but joyous chorus of voices that echoed down the beach and off the surrounding rocks.

"If you want to sing out, sing out   
And if you want to be free, be free.   
'Cause there's a million things to be   
You know that there are.   
You know that there are.   
You know that there are.   
You know that there are.   
You know that there are."

They all laughed at the end, applauding themselves wildly. Wesley leaned over toward Oz.

"Say, do you know anything by The Band?" he asked timidly.

Oz grinned at him, surprised that the stuffy Englishman knew any classic rock, "How about The Weight?"

Wesley's face burst into a smile. "Yes! Delightful!"

Oz began to play.

********************************************************************

As the night wore on, Buffy quietly slipped away from the crowd and wandered off down the dark beach alone. She till felt weak and out of sorts, but the herbal tincture that Old Emma and Willow had forced into her at least eased some of the discomfort in her muscles, and the fistful of Advil dulled the pain of her dislocated shoulders. The pain between her legs, well... she'd just have to deal with that for a while. Apparently, Slayer healing didn't apply to more intimate areas.

But the worst pain was that her relationship with Angel had suffered. They had barely spoken over the past two days since he woke with her in his arms and they'd made such tender, gentle love. He barely looked her in the eye, and he seemed perpetually on the verge of tears, holding her close every chance that he got.

Buffy didn't really mind the silence in itself, because the truth was, there really wasn't much for them to say to one another right now. It wasn't a painful silence that surrounded them, but an understanding, healing one. She knew eventually that they would talk it all out, and everything would be the way it was between them again.

Okay, so maybe not the way it was, but at least fine.

She looked out over the sea at the waning red moon. Soon, the group would be breaking up again to go whatever way they were headed. Part of her would be sad to see their family separate once again. They'd pulled together, just like always, when the fate of the world or one of their number hung in the balance. And she knew in her heart that no matter how scattered and distant they all might be in years to come, that fact would always be true. They would always be there for one another.

"Thinking happy thoughts?" Willow asked as she approached and stood beside her.

Buffy smiled at her best friend, then turned back to the soothing waves once again.

"Yes and no," she replied.

"Are things... you know... okay... with you and Angel?" Willow asked.

Buffy shrugged, "I guess... There's just... a lot that we need to work through. What happened the other night..." she looked down and half-heartedly kicked at the sand, "It changed everything," she concluded quietly.

"It'll be okay," Willow said, "You'll see. I mean, look at all the good that came from this. We know Angel's soul is bound for good, as long as yours is still around. How does that work again? I mean, what if you... you know... if your soul isn't around... what happens to Angel?"

Buffy examined her shoes carefully as she replied, "True Happiness Clause Part II."

"Oh," Willow said, "So he'd go back to the way he was."

"More or less."

"Well, I mean, he's all..." Willow searched for a good word, "Integrated. Whole, right? The demon's more or less dormant, and his personality's all sewn together again, so..."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed without enthusiasm.

It was pretty clear to Willow that this wasn't a subject her best friend really cared to talk about, so she changed it. For now.

"When is everybody leaving?" she asked, although the thought of Oz going back to the mountains wasn't really something *she* wanted to think about.

"Tomorrow," Buffy replied, "Angel's taking Emma and Oz back to Sierra Ridge, and dropping Cordy and Doyle off on the way. They're going to take Wesley to the airport."

"Oh. So, Wesley's going back to England?"

Buffy smiled in spite of herself, "Yeah, but not permanently. He says he's going to resign. That the "fight against the forces of darkness" is more "effectively fought in the Colonies," she quoted in her best stuffy Wesley accent, "Angel's asked him to join the firm."

"Really?" Willow asked, "Why?"

Buffy chuckled, "As it turns out, he kind of came here without permission. The Council forbade him to help Angel... again. So, chances are, he won't have a job when he gets back anyway. Angel, of course, feels guilty, and all of a sudden insists he needs an archivist."

"Which he doesn't," Willow giggled.

"Which he doesn't," Buffy agreed.

"So... are you going with them? I mean, with Angel... to LA."

Buffy sighed. "I don't know. I think maybe he wants to be alone for a while. What about you? What's up with you and Oz?"

It was Willow's turn to shrug. "I'm not sure. He says he's still not ready to come home for a few months yet, until he's got the change under control on his own. I think it'll be best if we just let things be, for now..."

"And Tara?"

A little smile flashed across Willow's face, "I don't know about that yet, either."

"But you like her," Buffy observed.

"Yeah. I do. A lot. But... it's not really fair to her, you know? I like Tara. But I *love* Oz. I really want him and I to work things out, eventually... if we can. It's not really right to string Tara along. She deserves better than that," Willow replied softly.

"What does she say?"

"You know her. She says everything will work itself out in its own time, and she's my friend, so she doesn't want to go anywhere... and what is meant to be, will be, blah blah blah... gentle understandingcakes."

"Que sera sera..." Buffy said. She thought Tara's words sounded awfully familiar... like they'd come out of the mouth of a very wise, very gorgeous vampire she knew.

"But we're not gonna... you know," Willow went on, blushing, "Anymore."

Buffy laughed, put her arm around the redhead, and gave her a squeeze, "Yeah, I know. I'm sure everything'll be fine."

**************************************

Cordelia woke early to the smell of brewing coffee made by someone other than her, and the quiet sounds of cartoons on the television. She slowly opened her eyes and looked over to the other side of the living room, and found Xander sitting on the floor in rumpled pajamas six inches from the television and sipping on his coffee as he watched Bugs Bunny.

It almost seemed funny to her now, that she had once loved him. Considering the depth of her growing feelings for the absolutely confounding and amazing Doyle, what she once felt for Xander now seemed like a dream she'd had as a little girl.

But, it *had* been her dream -- a pretty sweet one, for a while -- and they'd been through a lot together. All the 12-steppy sharing they'd been forced into brought an awful lot of those old feelings to the surface again, and despite Old Emma's official pronouncement of closure at the end of the ritual, Cordelia didn't feel like anything was really resolved at all.

She got up slowly, trying not to wake Doyle sleeping beside her, and went over to sit beside Xander on the floor.

"Morning," he said without taking his eyes from the Road Runner pulverizing Wile E. Coyote.

"Morning," she replied.

"Coffee?" he offered her his mug, which Cordelia knew would be loaded with more cream and sugar than actual coffee.

"Sure." She took it and choked down a sip, then handed it back to him. "Thanks."

"No prob."

"Xander..." she began.

He turned his gentle, laughing eyes to her. "Don't, Cordy. Let's just... let things go," he said. "It's enough."

Cordelia shook her head, "No. I mean... I want us to have a clean slate. Totally. On our own terms."

Xander nodded his understanding.

"I've done a lot of mean things to you, over the years," she went on, "And said a lot of meaner things. But... if there's one thing I've learned, it's that... you really have to value your good friends. And... despite everything else... you've been a good friend," she reached over and took his free hand, giving it a squeeze.

Xander looked at her and grinned, "Is this a heartfelt speech? I think maybe I'm going to have a heart attack!" he joked, then became serious upon seeing her stricken expression, "I've done my fair share of damage to you, too," he added.

Cordy shrugged. He always handled the heavier matters in life with a joke... it was his way, and one of the things she admired most about him. "I'm tough. Besides, all that's over. I'm happy now."

Xander threw a little glance at Doyle, sleeping in the corner, "He seems cool."

A brilliant smile snuck across Cordelia's movie-star-pretty face, "He is," she said. "More than cool."

Xander gave her hand a squeeze of his own. It made him feel good to be near her... and to be at peace with her. But most of all, he was glad she had found someone to appreciate her unique charms.

"And what about Anya? She's um... interesting," Cordy commented.

Xander laughed quietly, "She is that," he agreed, then asked, "What kind of a demon is Doyle again?"

"Brachen," she answered, gazing lovingly at Doyle and reaching for Xander's mug again. He relinquished it to her.

"Don't they have... spines?" he asked incredulously.

Cordy laughed and guzzled down the rest of his nasty coffee.

**************************************

Buffy took Angel's hand as they walked through the sewer on the way to Giles' house. He still hadn't spoken to her much, and had once again insisted on holding her silently all night after the bonfire.

"Okay," she finally said, desperate to break the silence, "Considering our history of conversations in sewers, I'm kind of afraid to go here, but... are you ever going to talk to me again?"

Angel ducked a low pipe and turned to look at her, "I am talking to you," he said.

Buffy rolled her eyes, "No. I mean *talk* to me. With actual words. You haven't said anything about anything since you woke up. We can't just let this go, Angel... It'll ruin us," she insisted.

Angel stopped walking and looked down at her. "I don't know what you want me to say."

He still couldn't look her directly in the eye. Buffy cupped a tiny hand under his chin and forced his gaze up to hers.

"Why won't you look at me?" she asked, "Are you angry with me?"

Angel averted his eyes again, saying nothing.

"You are!" Buffy said incredulously, "You're angry with me. About Angelus!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he replied, pulling his head away and resuming their walk.

Buffy grabbed him again. "Don't just walk away from this, Angel. Don't keep this to yourself. Tell me!" she insisted.

He turned on her. "Okay. Yes, I'm angry. *More* than angry! Furious. And jealous, and guilty and ashamed, and a lot of other things!" He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, staring at the ground, before he looked up at her again, "How could you let him do those things to you, Buffy? How could you even let him touch you?"

She sighed. The answer seemed so simple to her now... now that she had seen her own shadow Self, and his, come face to face. But he didn't understand. He was still looking at things as though Angelus were not his own dark side, but some other, foreign creature invading his body.

"He's you," she said, "It was right."

"Don't say that! He is *not* me!" Angel insisted, knowing full well that he was at least partially kidding himself. "And it kills me to think of you having to give yourself to that... thing!"

Buffy grabbed both of his hands and looked up into his pained face, "Don't you know? I would do anything to keep you safe. Anything! Kill, die, fuck evil demons, I don't care!!!"

He looked deeply into her eyes at last. "I *do* care, Buffy! I don't want you to have to constantly put yourself at risk... constantly sacrifice... because you love me! Don't you know that's why I left you to begin with? Look at us! It's a beautiful summer morning, and we're taking a romantic walk through a sewer! You're covered with bruises and cuts that *I* put on you! How much is too much? When you're dead? When I've finally killed you?"

Buffy laughed, and Angel gave her a withering look.

"What, exactly, is so funny?" he asked angrily.

"You. Us," she chuckled, "If you even give me that "Normal Life" lecture again, I swear to God, I'll rip your head off with my bare hands."

He blinked, as her tone told him she was only half-joking.

She looked him straight in the eye, "Angel, I'm sick of playing these games with you, and then wallowing in all the angst and woe afterward! I love you, okay? With all of my heart and body and soul and whatever else. Forever. Can't you get that through your thick skull? And Angelus was a part of you! Granted, he was a part that probably belonged in the psycho ward, but still... Old Emma said I had to love all of you, with all of me, otherwise, everything we'd been through was a waste," she paused for a moment, and her voice dropped as she looked away, "I was going to kill you, you know. Even after the others started working on the spell to cure you. But Emma stopped me. She asked if I could really give up on you so easily. And she told me that the truth not only isn't what we think, it usually isn't what we want, either."

Angel stared at her, confused, "Which means..."

Buffy looked back up at him again, "Which means that neither of our pictures of, or expectations for, this relationship were ever even in the general neighborhood of reality. We always ignore the truth... I hung on to that stupid fairy tale fantasy vision that I was some princess in a tower, and you were my dark knight, coming to sweep me away on your black stallion, and that everything would be all simple and perfect if we just stuck together. And you... you are always so hung up on what we weren't and couldn't be, that you refused to see what we were... are, I mean," she stepped closer to him, "Maybe it's time we meet somewhere in the middle. Stop expecting too much or too little from ourselves, and just be... together."

He stood there, staring at her for a few minutes, allowing what she'd said to sink in.

"That's very wise," he finally commented.

Buffy smiled warmly, self-satisfied. "I thought so."

"And you became this wise in three days..." Angel said, his tone growing lighter once more.

She took his hand and started walking again, "Uh huh."

"Impressive," he said, giving her hand a squeeze, "I've been working on it for a hundred years."

She shrugged nonchalantly, "Yeah, well, some of us learn faster than others."

Angel laughed.

**************************************

Giles' house was already bustling with activity when they arrived. People rushed about in various stages of cleaning, dressing, packing, or eating the huge breakfast that Giles and Emma produced like line cooks from the kitchenette.

"Sausage up!" Giles announced, eliciting a literal scuttle from Doyle and Xander, who appeared simultaneously at the bar, holding their empty plates out.

Anya looked at them, then at Cordelia.

"You sure don't wander too far from form, do you?" the ex-demon asked.

Cordy just huffed in response.

"Hey, guys," Buffy greeted the rested, happy crowd.

A chorus of "Hey!'s", "Buffy!'s", and "Angel, how are ya?'s" floated across the room. Angel put his arm around Buffy and smiled happily at their motley little family. *His* family...

"Angel, if you would," Wesley asked, motioning him toward the table where he and Oz were pouring over books and notes, "I have some questions about your experience... if you don't mind, of course."

Angel looked at Buffy, then back at the Watcher. "Sure," he said, shrugging, and went to join them.

Buffy wandered into the kitchenette.

"Little Warrior," Emma said, smiling warmly at her, "How fare you after your long journey?"

"Like I got hit by a truck. No, make that a convoy," she answered, leaning over to sniff the fresh muffins still cooling in a tin on the counter.

"And your young man is well?" the old woman asked, turning back to the pile of oranges and the juicer before her.

"He's an idiot, but he's okay," Buffy told her, scarfing up a full glass of the fresh juice for herself.

Emma chuckled. "That is as it should be."

Buffy stopped and regarded the gypsy woman who had saved all of their lives. "Emma..." she began.

She patted the Slayer's hand, "You may call me Grandmother. You are family."

"Grandmother... I have to thank you. I mean... I know how your people feel about Angel... but you saved him anyway."

The old woman peered over the island at the tall, handsome figure bent over the desk, looking intently at a book and listening to the Watcher babble.

"Yes, well... He is very important," she said mysteriously, "As are you. The time for old hurts is past. We must look forward."

Buffy missed her tone, "He is. And we will," she said, and smiled.

**************************************

Oz shut the Ziploc bag of herbs in his guitar case and took a look around to see if there was anything he had forgotten. He noticed Tara standing in the doorway watching him.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey," she replied, "Can we... t-talk?"

Oz shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

The blonde smiled timidly and came to sit on the bed next to his luggage. "So, um... I assume you'll be coming back soon..." she ventured.

Oz turned his copper eyes on her, "Eventually, yeah," he replied.

Tara nodded, then sat silently for a moment, considering her next move. Oz continued stuffing items into his small bag as he waited.

"I love her, you know," she said finally.

Not bothering to look up, Oz replied with a shrug, "How could you not?"

"I won't let you hurt her," Tara added evenly, "I won't let anything or anyone hurt her."

Oz found that even that barely-veiled threat sounded gentle in her sweet voice.

He stopped and looked at her seriously. "Good."

Tara nodded, then got up and left, leaving the werewolf staring after her.

**************************************

Two vehicles, Angel's car and Wesley's rented minivan, were parked out front and fully packed, and the gang gathered to give their farewells in Giles' foyer. Hugs, words of thanks, kisses on cheeks and lips, and promises to speak soon were passed all around. Oz helped Emma into the van, and Doyle grabbed the last of Cordy's bags before he climbed into the car with her.

Angel stood in the doorway, holding Buffy.

"Don't go," she whispered into his shirt as she clutched him fiercely, "I don't want to be without you."

He pulled her away, "Come with me," he said, "Up to the mountains for a couple of days. Grandmother says we're always welcome to stay with her."

Buffy looked up at him, surprised, "You're going to stay at the compound? With gypsies? What about the magick?"

Her love smiled softly, "It can't hurt me anymore. And the Sierras are magnificent this time of year. I need to get away for a while... get some rest. And so do you."

Buffy could hardly believe how casually he was putting himself in Old Emma's hands once again, and how he could equate the were-people's home with anything even close to rest. She thought of the mound of untouched homework waiting on her desk, and the prospect that she would have to be finishing up her summer classes in a few weeks. But the mountains... with Angel? It was too tempting to resist.

"I don't know, Angel... I have classes on Monday. And...I mean, don't you want some time alone?"

Angel tenderly touched her cheek, "No. Do you?"

She gave him a brilliant smile. "No."

"Then... what's the problem?" he asked, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

Buffy wasn't quite sure herself. Was she afraid? What did she have to be frightened of now?

"I'll let you drive..." Angel tempted, dangling the keychain she'd given him before her eyes.

Like a kid on Christmas, she immediately brightened, "Really? You'll let me drive your car all by myself???"

Angel cocked an eyebrow at her. "Doyle will be with you," he amended, saying a silent prayer that that would be any help at all, since Doyle wasn't the best driver himself.

"Okay, you've got a vacation partner, buddy!" she declared, and kissed him fiercely before handing him the thick wool blanket to cover himself with on the short journey to the van.

Giles walked Wesley to the van's driver's side.

"Pryce, much to my chagrin, I must admit that it's been a great pleasure to work with you, again," he said, extending his hand.

Wesley shook it firmly, "Indeed, Mr. Giles. I look forward to many more opportunities to do so, now that I'll be working for Angel's firm in Los Angeles."

"Yes, of course. Don't hesitate to call if you require anything," Giles replied.

"I shan't," Wesley said, getting in to the van and starting the engine. He looked at Rupert again. "Mr. Giles... it strikes me as rather peculiar, the way our lives seem to have come full circle," he observed.

Giles smiled, "It does. That is the way of things, I imagine."

Wesley nodded and heard the minivan's rear doors slam.

"Ready!" Angel called from the curtained shadows.

"Ah, very good," Wesley called back, and looked at Giles once more, "Take care, sir. Of yourself and your fine Slayer."

Giles smiled and backed away from the vehicle, "I will. And you, as well."

"Thank you."

Doyle sat waiting for Cordelia to stop hugging everyone, and was surprised when Buffy opened the driver's side door and stuck her head in.

"Slide over, Frankie," she chirped, "Boss said I could drive."

He reluctantly complied. "Could you not call me that? And... do you even have a driver's license?"

Buffy looked evenly at him, "You do, don't you? Do I need one if you have one?"

Doyle sighed, silently swearing to himself to get revenge on Angel... maybe put holy water in his shampoo or something.

That is, if they survived the trip.

*****************************************************************

The song the gang sings is "If You Want to Sing Out" by Cat Stevens, from the Harold &amp; Maude Soundtrack


	12. Third Time's the Charm

"Wow... this is... um... rustic," Buffy said, looking around Oz's cabin.

"Yeah. I think Will called it 'rugged simplicity'," Oz told her as he put his clothes away.

"Listen, Oz. I know I was a little rough on you about Willow..." Buffy began.

He shrugged. "She's your best friend. You were defending her. It only makes sense."

"Yeah," Buffy went on, "But Angel was right. You didn't do it because you wanted to hurt her. You left because you felt it was the right thing to do. I have no business punishing you for that."

Oz looked gave her his trademark subtle smile. "It's cool, Buffy. Really. I feel better knowing you're looking out for her."

"So... do you think you'll come back to Sunnydale?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I mean, a big part of me wants to... it felt good to be with the gang again. I miss you guys. And... the Good Fight, I guess..."

"But..."

"But... Willow's got a new life... and she's got Tara," he said.

"She loves you," Buffy insisted.

"I know. But... she deserves to be happy. Tara seems to do it for her. Who am I to break that up after the way I handled things?"

Buffy said nothing, hearing Angel's similar words in her memory once again. How was it that her lover seemed to know so much about so many things, and yet could never work out the mess in his own head?

The werewolf gave her a crooked half-smile, "We'll see what happens in a couple of months. Maybe I'll stay here... help other guys like me."

She nodded. Before she could respond, there was a soft knock at the door.

"Yeah!" Oz called.

"It's me," Angel said through the door, Oz's vague greeting not sufficient to allow him access.

"Come in, man," Oz said.

Angel entered, and Buffy could hardly believe how small the room suddenly became as his big body filled the space. He had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the low ceiling.

"Wow. Small," Angel commented, stooping over.

"Yeah. Most of us are, too," Oz replied.

Angel nodded sagely.

Buffy was struck dumb looking at him. He took her breath away, the way he stood, seeming to command every inch of space... all the shadows of the room. He turned and looked at her, his face softened by an expression of pure love and obvious happiness to see her again, although they'd only been separated for a couple of hours while he spoke with Emma.

"Can I borrow Buffy for a while?" he asked Oz.

"Sure. I think we're done here."

"Yeah," she agreed with a smile, and gave his arm a squeeze.

Angel offered his hand and Buffy took it, allowing him to lead her out the front door and into the warm mountain night.

"Where are we going?"

He smiled down at her, "Just for a walk. It's a beautiful night."

Buffy wasn't entirely comfortable with the notion of wandering around in the woods at night, but with Angel's big, gentle hand wrapped tightly around hers, she knew there was nothing to fear.

The forest was filled with a hush that was almost tangible. They walked along in silence as the darkness enveloped them, and both supernatural hunters reached out their sharp senses to find their way.

It seemed to Buffy that they wandered for a long time before she spotted a low light up ahead.

"What's that?" she asked softly, not wanting to break the comfortable blanket of quiet they'd gathered around them.

"You'll see," Angel replied with a smile.

A few moments later, they stepped from the forest into a small clearing, and  
Buffy gasped in pleasant surprise.

The meadow was encircled by a ring of tall torches that lit the deep night with soft, golden light. In the center, Angel had arranged a picnic straight off a postcard: a big, square gingham blanket was spread out over the ground, held down by a giant wicker basket and stones on the corners. She could see a bottle of wine and a baguette poking out of the top.

"What's this?" Buffy asked, gazing adoringly up at him.

"Well," he said, leading her by the hand into the clearing, "You said you liked it when Riley took you on afternoon picnics in the park. It's not afternoon, and this isn't really a park, but..."

Buffy smiled gratefully at him. Did he really think he had to compete with Riley? "It's perfect," she said.

Angel returned her smile, and they sat down on the blanket, both kicking off their shoes.

"Wine?" he asked.

Buffy nodded.

Angel uncorked the bottle and poured some into two glasses he produced from the basket. He handed her one and then sat gazing at her.

She blushed under his intense look. "Where did you get this?" Buffy asked, looking at the faded label on the old bottle.

"Grandmother gave it to us. She's had it since she was small. Said she liked the color of the bottle, so her father bought it for her."

She examined the thick purple glass, "It's pretty."

"Vintage 1898 -- the year her people restored my soul," he said quietly, looking into his glass, "She thought it was appropriate..."

"To your soul," Buffy said, offering her glass for a toast.

Angel raised his eyes, and then his own glass, with a smile, "And to yours... may they remain intact and entwined forever."

"Hear hear," Buffy agreed, and they clinked glasses before taking a long sip of the wine, looking deeply into one another's eyes.

It had been yet another close call. Another moment when fate, and sheer bad luck, had almost torn them apart. Buffy thought as she ate the perfect bologna and cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off and covered with mayo and a sweet pickle (he knew her so well...), how lucky they were to be there together.

They finished the sandwiches, then snacked quietly on the fresh apple and pear slices he'd packed for desert. They sipped their wine in companionable silence, staring into one another's eyes as the night forest sang around them.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Angel said suddenly, and stretched out to hit the play button on the little boombox Buffy had never noticed hidden behind the picnic basket.

Soft strains of a fiddle and guitar floated in the air, and Buffy gave Angel a look.

"Since when were you a country music fan?" she teased.

He shrugged. "I like music, period. And... it's a pretty song. I heard it on the radio one day, and asked Cordelia to get me a copy."

Buffy was shocked, "Cordelia bought country music? My god... did the sky fall?"

Angel chuckled, and got to his feet, offering his hand once more. "Dance with me?" he asked.

The soothing melody and the wine filled her with a sensation of warm, giddy well-being, and she just couldn't resist. She took his hand and he helped her up, taking her naturally and firmly into his arms.

"Dancing in the dark  
Middle of the night  
Taking your heart  
And holding it tight"

Angel swayed her slowly, caressing the spot in the small of her back where he held her, and gazed deeply into her eyes.

"Emotional touch  
Touching my skin  
And asking you to do  
What you've been doing  
All over again.

Oh, it's a beautiful thing  
Don't think I can keep it all in  
I just gotta let you know  
What it is that won't let me go"

Buffy sighed and leaned into him, just letting him lead her in slow circles around the private little world he'd built for her. Angel lay his cheek on the top of her head and breathed in the warm vanilla scent of her hair.

"It's your love  
It just does something to me  
It sends a shock right through me  
I can't get enough  
And if you wonder  
About the spell I'm under  
It's your love"

How he loved to hold her... how tiny she was in his arms... how strong her living heartbeat echoed against his chest. What an amazing, astounding woman.

His lover. His soul's mate.

"Better than I was  
More than I am  
And all of this happened  
By taking your hand  
And who I am now  
Is who I wanted to be  
And now that we're together  
I'm stronger than ever  
I'm happy and free"

Buffy peered up at him, dizzy and lightheaded as she looked deep into the Chocolate brown of his soulful -- Soul-Full -- eyes.

"Oh, it's a beautiful thing  
Don't think I can keep it all in  
And if you ask me why I've changed  
All I've gotta do is say your sweet name."

Angel leaned down and kissed her softly. "I love you, Buffy," he whispered in her ear.

"It's your love  
It just does something to me  
It sends a shock right through me  
I can't get enough  
And if you wonder  
About the spell I'm under  
It's your love."

The last chorus went on, echoing through the trees. And when the song was done, the soft strains of a low solo violin took its place, Angel and Buffy still stood, barefoot in one another's arms, kissing.

It was as though the forest and the mountains had their own magick that was only amplified by the warmth of the burning torches and the soft music as their kiss deepened, turning from soft and gentle, to more passionate.

Angel swept his hands slowly up her back and into her hair, pulling her closer as his tongue sought hers and their mouths performed a dance of their own. He could taste the sweetness of the fruit and wine in her mouth, and devoured it hungrily.

Buffy stood on tiptoe, letting her lips wander from his, and kissed his face tenderly, then his chin, and softly moved to his throat.

He sighed as he felt her warm lips bless the healing wound she had made on him. The throbbing pain in the torn flesh eased suddenly at her touch.

((Like magick.))

Buffy's hands seemed to be everywhere on him at once, and his shirt was gone before he'd felt her fingers on the buttons. But he felt her hands and lips on his skin, without a doubt.

"Oh, Buffy..." he sighed as her lips gently closed around his nipple.

She carefully pushed him down to kneel before her on the blanket. Before she had a chance to follow, Angel grabbed her, sinking his face into the soft cotton of her sundress at her belly. He held her, caressing her back as he kissed the rounded lines of her stomach, and down over her womb. She ran her hands through his thick hair, and moaned softly under his tender attentions.

He urged her down slowly, sweeping her dress up and away from her as she moved, sliding her bare body against his chest as she sank down to kneel in front of him.

On their knees, they were almost eye to eye. Angel's gaze swept over her perfect nudity, making her shiver with anticipatory delight. The shiver quickly turned to a shuddering moan as he followed his eyes with his strong, cool hands, setting her skin on fire as he caressed the fine outline of her form.

"You're so beautiful, Buffy..." he sighed as he touched her, "So perfect... strong and warm and powerful and gentle... I could touch you like this all night. Every night."

He braced his hand behind her and gently eased her down onto the blanket, resuming his worship of her body with his adoring lips.

Buffy moaned as he suckled softly at her breasts, and reached down to undo his slacks, sliding her hand inside and stroking him gently. Angel groaned deeply in response, bringing his lips back to her neck, and the angry red scar there. Buffy's head spun, and her whole body tingled fiercely at that intimacy, as though the mark were magick and responded to his proximity of its maker.

"You know," she said breathlessly, "In the movies, when a vampire bites you for the third time, it means you belong to him forever."

She almost hated to say it, but it had been playing in her mind for days... the idea that maybe, if he fed off her again... on purpose... in a gentle, loving way... that the memory of Angelus might be banished from between them forever.

Buffy waited for his anger, for him to pull away, but he didn't. He kept brushing the spot with his lips, running his hands up her slim arms, raising goosebumps all over her skin.

"Does it, now?" he whispered in her ear, electing another shiver from her.

"Uh huh..." she whispered back.

Buffy stopped stroking his erection, and slid his pants as far as she could reach down his legs. He wriggled the rest of the way out of them, and lay finally bare on top of her, positioned perfectly for entry into her already wet center.

Angel paused and looked down into her eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked softly, his face marred for a moment with concern and the last vestiges of shame and fear.

She nodded. "But only if you do."

Angel took a sharp, deep breath... and smiled, "If it means you'll belong to me forever..."

"Your personal love slave," she assured him, and grinned. She felt his penis throb against the junction of her thighs in response.

"In that case..." he whispered, and eased her legs apart with his knees.

Buffy felt him press against her, and watched his face change. The irony of her desire for this didn't escape her, but only intensified her wanting. She shifted her hips so the tip of him perched just inside her outer lips, and turned her head, offering her throat. She heard him take a ragged breath, feeling the cool exhalation tickle the hairs on her neck as he lowered his head.

Angel pushed himself gently against her, parting her slowly, and kissed her neck with an aching tenderness, then eased both his hard member and his razor-sharp fangs into her body.

She cried out softly, the gentle double penetration launching her straight into a bliss so intense, she saw stars. Angel moaned as he lovingly nursed at her vein, rocking in and out of her with equal care. Buffy tangled her hands in his hair, pulling his face closer, overwhelmed by the pure sensation of pleasure that washed through her. Angel put his hands under her hips, arching her into him and deepening his thrust as he continued to drink.

After a moment, he withdrew his teeth, and tenderly licked at the wound, then looked up into her eyes once more. His desire and love showed clear, even on his demon features. He kissed her slowly, moving as deep inside of her as he could go, feeling her blood rush through his veins.

Angel gasped, and his face returned to its normal, beautiful, smooth planes. "God, Buffy... I love you... so much..." he cried, feeling his body begin to hum with the flush of his impending orgasm, and the sheer power of her body's lifeblood.

Buffy sighed, putting her hands on his hips, encouraging him still deeper into her. She felt fuzzy and warm, dizzy, like the world was spinning off its axis... but all in a good way. In an incredible, awesome way... she'd never felt anything like it. Like he was literally part of her... her skin, her cells, her heart and soul. Like there was no barrier between them anymore at all, and if he tried, he could see into her very center, where the heart of her love for him lay.

"I love you too... Angel..." she sighed, "Yes..."

He kissed her deeply, then moved his mouth back down to the wound at her throat, and suckled at it softly with his lips. Buffy cried out at the paradoxical sensation of his human mouth drinking her like that. She thrust her hips up to him, hard.

Feeling her writhing beneath him, Angel pressed his hand between their melded bodies and raised himself away from her neck to allow him better access to the place where they were joined. He touched her hot center gently and massaged it in time with his deep thrusts.

Buffy wrapped her legs around him, clutching at him desperately, emitting small cries that matched the rhythm of their bodies coming together.

He felt her begin to tense, her inner muscles grabbing at him, milking him as she climaxed, and thrust into her, deep and hard. Buffy shouted and crushed him with her arms and legs, pulling his face back to her throat once more. He whimpered as he kissed the tear in her flesh, plunging deeply into her, his senses reeling. He threw his head back. "BUFFY!" he shouted into the night, emptying himself within her.

Long, panting moments later, Angel sank down, still inside her warmth, and lay his head on her damp chest. Buffy wrapped her arms around him and cradled him close to her heart.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Mm-mm," she denied dreamily, giving him a squeeze. A noise in the distance caught her attention as the pounding of blood in her ears lessened, "Angel... sh... listen."

With his arms still encircling her and his cheek resting on her breast, he listened. Somewhere, not far off, they could hear wolves baying, their soothingly eerie night music echoing off the mountains and through the trees, a magickal blanket of melody to keep them warm.

"It's beautiful," Buffy said, her voice touched with happy tears. "Like a song."

Angel smiled and closed his eyes, knowing that the wolves were singing just for him and his soul's mate.

THE END! :)  
********************************************************************************  
The song Buffy and Angel dance to is "It's Your Love" by Tim McGraw.


End file.
